


Law of Silence

by Irraya



Category: Marvel, Mass Effect
Genre: Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, Autistic Character, Deaf Character, F/F, F/M, Gen, Other, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:41:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 44
Words: 100,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4334261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irraya/pseuds/Irraya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Alliance has been silencing human voices in its push for greater galactic representation (a regular theme in human history). Except the reaper war has left cracks in the system and silence is no longer an option, but when there are giant lobster robots trying to take out the entire galaxy, what difference does a few "broken" human lives make?</p><p>Also known as the one where I tried to put Clint and Natasha into Mass Effect and they turned into very interesting OCs...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Omega

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Mass Effect/characters/etc. and same goes for Marvel. This is all appreciative fanwork.
> 
> Kind of the same universe I use in Ithaka/Battle Wounds, definitely the same Shepard at least. In case it isn't clear, the Marvel exists in this universe, it's just died out to be a very niche interest. For various reasons, a whole bunch of characters happen to keep taking the names of Marvel characters for their own means. They're definitely based on their mcu counterparts, but I take liberties when it suits me...
> 
> This starts mid me2 (after Miranda's loyalty mission but before Garrus or Tali have been recruited, I know that's not exact game chronology, shhh) and follows the games through me3 and beyond. 
> 
> General Disclaimer: I am not D/deaf/HoH, nor am I transfeminine or a trans women, I've done a lot of research, but that doesn't mean I'm perfect. You are welcome to call me out on anything and I promise to listen and to do my best to fix it. 
> 
> AND Warnings: suicide, violence, transphobia, acephobia, ableism, alcohol, dissociation, language...I will be more specific by chapters.

This was completely unexpected. Miranda had assumed that Archangel would be difficult, contrary, the classic xenophobic Cerberus-hating turian. Shepard would have had to use all of her people skills in order to recruit him. She had not even considered that he might be an old friend of Shepard’s. (Garrus Vakarian, that was one of the names in Shepard's will, wasn’t it? Miranda wasn’t even sure if she was supposed to have seen the will). 

And now she was fighting alongside a turian in the hopes that she could keep him alive long enough to get him to the ship and to Dr. Chakwas. Cerberus and her father had taught her to never ever trust an alien (no, not alien, non-human, as Shepard preferred to say), but Shepard had begun to erode at that belief. Heck, she had been fighting alongside a salarian just this morning. 

But that had been different, Shepard had been there. Now, in a small room with nothing but a giant turian sniper and no human back-up, she really didn’t know how to feel. Her father would have said fear, the Illusive Man would say caution, Shepard would say…she didn’t know what Shepard would say. 

But Shepard trusted Archangel…Garrus, and she trusted Shepard. Shepard would say to get the job done. She could do that.

“So,” the turian broke the silence (that was beginning to get comfortable, dammit), “Cerberus is the new employer, huh?”

He aimed and shot, again and again. Miranda warped one of the mercs to avoid answering properly.

“We’re not employing Shepard exactly,” she hedged (sometimes she sounded just like the Illusive Man, it was horrible), “she is free to choose what to do. We just offer guidance and any necessary resources”.

“Except with you to spy on her and ensure she actually does what she’s told,” Garrus continued shooting minute targets she could barely see. Even if Shepard didn’t trust him, she’d value this guy for his aim.

“She could fire me any time she pleases,” she tried not to sound sour about that fact, “I file reports to the Illusive Man because I am a Cerberus officer working for a freelancer, not because I’m spying” She paused for a minute, she really was spying on Shepard, wasn’t she? All of Cerberus was trying to control and dictate her movement. Miranda had even wanted to put in a control chip.

“I think EDI does most of the spying,” she amended, “my reports are pretty bland”.

“EDI?” more mercs were falling. They were a good team – sniping and biotics.

“Ship’s VI”

“That would drive Joker mad,” Garrus chuckled to himself.

“It does…” she replied. Garrus lost his concentration for half a second.

“Joker went over to the dark side too, now?” he was surprised, “Who else?”

“Not sure,” she didn't know how to respond beyond answering the question, “I was taken off duty for recruitment due to an incident.” (If insisting on Shepard's body being moved to a facility undisclosed to the Illusive Man was considered an incident. She considered it a safety matter. She didn't know where his base was, he didn't need to know where her projects her, it was safer that way. He disagreed.)

“I’ve communicated with a Liara T’Soni besides Joker,” she continued, “Shepard seems close with Dr. Chakwas, but someone else recruited her so I’m not sure what her deal is, not Cerberus though, most of the crew is originally from the Normandy SR-1, but as I said, it wasn’t my assignment”.

“Chakwas is one of Shepard’s,” Garrus responded evenly, “You guys really know how to bribe a soldier”. 

“That would be the Illusive Man, not me,” Miranda replied primly, she hated being taken for the enemy. She would follow Shepard anywhere, do whatever it took to stop the Collectors, and all anyone seemed to care about was the Cerberus logo on her uniform. 

Garrus just started laughing, not noticing her annoyance. 

“My sister’s a lot like you,” he informed her, “Fighter pilot, left the military for the Underground, too proud for her own good, won’t take any kind of shit without a fight”.

Well, the turian underground wasn't much different from Cerberus, was it? Going against the law seemed to run in the family. 

The last merc went down, Miranda wasn’t sure which of them had actually gotten it.

“Thing is,” Garrus continued, “It gets her in a lot of trouble. And I like you, so don’t go making stupid mistakes in the name of pride, ok? We’re here for Shepard, everything else is secondary”.

“Don’t worry,” Miranda smiled, “Shepard is my top priority”.

Then her brain made a connection, "Your sister wouldn't be Solana Vakarian, would it?"

He looked surprised, "You know her?"

"I spend a lot of time in the human commune on Cipritine," she knew that was too much information for safety, that Garrus would know exactly what that meant and that information could eventually get to Shepard and the others and then she'd be executed (trans people were illegal, they had to die, the turians protected them, but they never quite understood the risks). 

Garrus just held out his hand and she shook it, pleased to know her father would be beyond pissed at the idea of his daughter (…son…) shaking hands with a turian. It would have to be enough. 

She would never admit that she had been worried when the rocket had knocked Garrus out. Or that she had gone to visit the infirmary a number of times while waiting for him to wake up. Or that she had hovered near the door to eavesdrop on his conversation with Shepard. And she most certainly would never admit that she was secretly pleased to hear he would make a full recovery.

***

Miranda Erica Lawson did not like asking for favours.

Especially from outsiders. 

Especially from outsiders to help her family. 

Not her actual family. She had managed to ask Shepard for help with Oriana and that had gone perfectly. She'd trust Shepard with Oriana. 

Her other family. The one that everyone in society was conditioned to hate. 

She stared at the Cerberus bulletin again:

> We would like to remind all operatives that we do not condone suicide. If you are considering suicide, please stop by our psychiatric department for treatment.

And the message from Mara:

> Clint visited the other day. It was nice to see him but I don't think he's doing well. He just slept in Carol's bed for two days and then disappeared. I'm honestly worried he's going towards a worse low than usual. I know all of us at the commune, in the network, are so lucky, considering what happens to most, but it's still disheartening. What we have is still so little compared to what we need, even with the turians helping us. I wish I could help him. I wish I could help all of our lost siblings.

Miranda Lawson wasn't the Illusive Man's right hand for nothing. She was going to have to trust Shepard.

She paged Yeoman Chambers.

"What can I do for you Executive Officer?" Chambers was always too cheery, it was slightly grating.

"If you could just pass on to Shepard that I'd like to talk to her about a possible personnel addition," she replied smoothly.

"Of course," Chambers cut off. 

Miranda looked back at her terminal. There had to be a way to make this completely legal, or as legal as a terrorist organization could be. Shepard-level legal.

The door opened.

"You wanted to see me?" Shepard sat down opposite her. That was quick. 

"I need to ask you another favor," Miranda hated how indebted she was going to be by the end of all this. 

"Oriana settling in fine?" Shepard asked, concerned. 

"She's fine," Miranda smiled, "we talked yesterday".

"Then I'm assuming this is something else," Shepard settled back as if it was story time. 

"I have a…friend," the word was strange, Clint was like an annoying side-thought she never saw except when he was in the middle of doing something stupid, "with your permission, I'd like to transfer him to the Normandy".

"Why?" Shepard was weighing her options.

"I believe his abilities would be an asset to our team," Miranda knew that was true. If only the Illusive Man had listened to her on this one in the first place…

"Then why ask me as a favor instead of just adding him to the dossiers?" Shepard was suspicious.

"I tried," multiple times in fact, "the Illusive Man claimed he was needed elsewhere. Now...some things have happened...I'm beginning to wonder if the Illusive Man just wants him dead".

Well, not dead. Just not causing any more problems. Clint was a nuisance, but he was good at what he did. More importantly, he was family. The Illusive Man didn't care about that sort of thing. If an operative became useless, he looked in the other direction.

"So you want me to put in the request so the Illusive Man has to give in and you can make sure this guy stays alive?" Shepard was smart.

"I would appreciate it," Miranda nodded, "but I understand if you can't, he's untrustworthy and it is unprecedented and not really your concern."

"Do you think Cerberus could cover a raised salary?" Shepard leaned back in her chair.

"All Cerberus personnel on the Normandy have double the usual pay," Miranda figured, "he wouldn't be an exception".

"Name?"

"Clinton Barton, special operative," Miranda recited.

"I'll put in a good word for him," Shepard stood, "you're my XO, so same rules apply, you take care of all personnel. That includes our Mr. Barton".

Miranda wasn't sure if that was a gift or a threat.

"Thank you Shepard," she smiled slightly, "I owe you".

"You rebuilt me," Shepard shrugged, "that's not a debt I'll be repaying anytime soon."

"Wait until you meet him," Miranda figured Shepard spending one day with Clint would be enough to repay any debts in that department.

What mess had she just caused?

She sighed and set about trying to figure out how to respond to Mara as Joker set course for Purgatory. Considering the team they were building, a merc group's prisoner would fit right in. 

***

Miranda figured she should be a good executive officer and welcome Jack to the team but it was pointless, it was like talking to a wall. 

After a stuttered “hello” and “welcome to the Normandy” and a few other empty phrases, she gave up, and started walking away.

She was nearly out the door, when Jack finally spoke.

“You got nice tits”.

“Um, thanks?” how did anyone respond to that?

“I’d take you now, here, on the floor, if you want,” Jack shrugged, “but if you want friendship or forgiveness, you better go looking somewhere else”.

It took a little while for Miranda to figure out what Jack was saying and then she could feel the embarrassing blush creeping over her cheeks.

“I don’t want…it’s not…” she stuttered, “I don’t do friends” she finally managed to burst out and escape through the door.


	2. Cerberus Medical (Undisclosed Location)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> specific warnings for suicidal thoughts
> 
> Eva is technically an OC, but does have a vague MCU corollary...

Clint woke up. 

Which wasn't supposed to happen and he was kind of pissed off. 

Downside of working for an organization full of highly trained soldiers and operatives and spies and whatever else was that they were all very good at saving other people's lives. Even other people they didn't give a shit about, but he was a pretty effective weapon for them and they weren't going to lose that.

He was on fucking punishment detail, they didn't actually need him alive, dammit.

Honestly, it had been kind of traumatizing, losing oxygen, seeing the stars without anything between them and him, the vast expanse of space, fighting his fucking useless survival instincts. But the point was not to wake up and have to deal with the trauma afterwards.

And the idiot doctors had left his hearing aids in. Which was protocol, but still, annoying first to wake up and then to have to deal with noise. In this case, it was someone crying. Quietly. Damn, that meant it was pretty quiet and there wasn't much noise to complain about. He wanted something to complain about. 

Fine, fine, he'd open his eyes and figure out who was crying. 

It was Eva. Who never cried, and was also normally too busy climbing the Cerberus spy ladders to be making social calls. 

"I really hope you're not crying about me," he tried to get her attention, "I'm not actually that handsome".

She glanced up and her face turned from sadness to its regular shifting between cheerful and completely untrustworthy. Spies. 

"I'm crying because I probably won't be able to very soon".

Well, that wasn't cryptic at all. 

"Are tear ducts no longer standard issue or something?" he tried to figure out how long he'd been out. Spaced. He'd been in space. He should still be in space. Dead. But he wasn't. So it would be nice to know how long he'd missed. 

"You've only been out a week," she smirked, "tech doesn't change that quickly".

Ok. A week. He'd been dead for a week. That was better than nothing. He'd had a nice nap, or something. 

But there were still questions, "Well, if you're not sobbing over my dead body, why are you here?" 

"Delivering a message from the Illusive Man," she picked up a data pad, "he's considering you throwing yourself out an airlock an apology and transferring you to the Normandy".

That was fishy. He hadn't heard anything about any Normandy except that the big famous one had been destroyed with the big famous Shepard dying two years ago. Though the rumors were that Shepard was alive. Was she working with Cerberus? Didn't sound in character. 

More importantly, why was it the Illusive Man transferring him and not the usual chain of directions coming to him through Renata? And why was it someone other than Miranda bringing the word of god to the humble operatives?

"Are you the new Miri or something?" he gave up on trying to be dead. New mission, new activity, back to the daily grind of suckiness, he'd wait for another lull and try again. Or maybe he'd be lucky and this one would do the job for him. 

Eva's face closed, "Worse".

How the hell did you comfort an assassin-spy when you'd just woken up from spacing yourself?

She laughed at his expression. Not like that, apparently.

"I used to wonder why you were constantly trying to die," she sat back in her chair, "I'm beginning to understand it now".

His heart dropped into his stomach. No. No one else should have to feel as crappy as he did. Part of the whole dying thing was to make it easier on the others - one less shitty person for them to worry about. Their survival would be higher, right? If they all started dying, then there'd be none of them left. 

"We joined Cerberus to pay our debts," she whispered, "but this price is too steep, death would be preferable".

"What are they doing to you?" 

She shook her head, "Security clearance ten, you're at 9".

"I was at five when I died," that was confusing.

"Normandy's an interesting post," her lips twitched into a half smile, "I'm definitely jealous".

One post was just like any other, right? Point and shoot. 

She got up to leave and then paused at the door, "Clint?"

"Mmm?" he was thinking about going back to sleep, avoid doctors and crap a little while longer.

"They next time you see me," she hesitated, "if I'm…changed at all, it's…it's ok to hurt me".

He would never hurt someone from the commune. Especially not one he'd grown up with, trained with, fought beside. He was a mess, but at least he had some sense of honor. 

***

Everything about this transfer was fishy. One moment, he was posted in Kepler with a bunch of scientists and then he was being transferred to the Normandy, which didn't exist. 

It probably meant someone wanted him dead. Probably the Illusive Man, considering where the orders came from.

Joke was on the whole lot of whoever, though, because he'd tried. And some goddamn force was set on keeping him alive. He'd have to slog through this weird new assignment for the time being. 

In the meantime, pick-up from the Normandy was two hours late. 

Clint shifted on his feet. He knew he looked like a sketch standing outside Afterlife for two hours, but he didn't really have anything else to do. The transfer had come with no back-up, no plan B, no contact.

He was in deep.

"Clint?" a familiar voice pulled him back to the present.

"Miri," he smiled, it was always nice to see her, they didn't get to very often, what with the secret missions and all.

There were two other officers next to her. Since when had she been a team player?

"Sorry we're so late," Miranda said, "Shepard and Garrus were drinking last night and we ended up defending ourselves against a team of batarians. I figured it would be better to fetch you myself."

"Fetch me?" Clint was having trouble following.

Oh yes. Normandy. Shepard. The one that had saved the citadel and then died and looked oddly like one of the guys Clint used to run with, back in London, with the Reds, before Carol found him. But Fairy wouldn't be the hero of the galaxy. And Shepard was Alliance. And wouldn't be boxed.

But she had apparently come back to life. Interesting. 

"I could have just sent a yeoman," she continued as if this was nothing strange, "but after those batarians, I really needed to get out, even if it's just Omega".

"So this is pick-up?" Clint had never actually worked directly under Miranda. The way their skill sets lined up, it just didn't happen. He worked alone with annoying Renata in his ear to ignore.

"Yes, come on," Miranda turned, "we want to get off Omega before Shepard finds the bar, trust me".

Clint followed because there didn't seem to be much else to do. Miranda was...a force to be reckoned with.

But it made his transfer that much more interesting. Miranda had to be high up on the chain of command on the Normandy, too high up to be fetching newcomers and she seemed a little too happy to see him.

"if this is some kind of pity transfer?" he had to ask.

"We'll debrief in my office," she told him, conversation over.

It most definitely wasn't.

Entering the Normandy was the most anti-climactic thing ever. For a top secret post, it was remarkably banal. People working. Lots of nobs and buttons and screens.

Miranda disappeared immediately upon getting aboard, it was one of the yeomen that led him to his quarters and the weapons locker and told him how to find her office.

She was the executive officer. Of course.

There was a turian in her office when she got there. It sounded like he was getting some kind of dressing down.

Miranda caught his eye as he snuck in and nodded.

"I don't mind you drinking, Garrus," she looked at the turian, "but next time please do not endanger the whole crew".

"Fine," the turian stood, "but I'm telling you, Shepard needs it, she's..."

Miranda stopped him with a glance, "We have company".

The turian turned and saw Clint, "Oh, the new guy, hey".

He held out his hand awkwardly, "Humans shake hands, right?"

Oh yeah. Civilization. Clint had done that once.

He grabbed the turian's hand, "Clint Barton".

"Garrus Vakarian," the turian failed to actually shake his hand, "look forward to working with you".

Vakarian. That sounded familiar.

"Solana's brother," Miranda interrupted his thoughts.

Oh. Sol. She visited the commune on a regular basis. At least there were turians here on this non-Cerberus ship, turians that wouldn't give a fuck about his identity.

Which, of course, was another reason to question Miranda. For a secret operative, she was ridiculously transparent sometimes.

Garrus left and Miranda motioned for him to sit. Clint sat. Angrily.

"Contrary to what it looks like, I've been trying to get you on this mission since it started," Miranda started, "your last attempt only gave me the right strings to pull to get this to happen".

Last attempt? Why couldn't she just say it - Clint was suicidal. He wanted to kill himself, everyone knew that, they didn't have to dance around like the mere mention of a word would break him to pieces. He had lived this long, it would take a little more than a word to destroy him. 

He didn't respond.

"I know you live in this narcissistic bubble where anyone that isn't you doesn't understand," Miranda sighed, "but I'm going to ask you to give this a chance. Shepard needs the best. I'd be lying if I said you weren't one of the best".

"I'm a insubordinate suicidal loner," Clint pointed out. He knew who he was. No more. No less. He was a good fighter, but everything else? Nope. Definitely not the best.

"We have a tank bred krogan in the cargo bay and a salarian playing mad scientist," Miranda's expression was bland, "I think you'll fit in just fine".

A krogan? Salarian? What? How was this even Cerberus?

Miranda just smirked. And suddenly, Clint was grateful, glad to be somewhere he had a friend, family even, a place he didn't have to be alone. He wouldn't admit it though. Miranda was still sticking her hands in places they didn't belong.

"Why?" he asked. He knew Miranda. He knew her motives.

"I'm sick of watching you throw your life away Clint," she raised her eyebrows, "you've been dying for a while now, maybe you should at least make it mean something."

"This isn't about me," it couldn't be.

She rolled her eyes, "The world doesn't revolve around you. Shepard needs you. See this mission out, either you die because, well, our chances of survival are pretty slim, or you can do whatever you want without my intervention afterwards".

Sounded almost fair.

"What if everything sucks before the mission ends?" he grumbled. 

Miranda ignored him and slid a data pad across her desk.

"These are your duties," she told him, "you're mainly to provide security for all crew and personnel, there aren't enough soldiers on this ship."

"Sounds easy," Clint was honestly unimpressed.

"What's written on paper has nothing to do with the reality," Miranda informed him, "you're booked to accompany me and Shepard on a supplies run tomorrow, that will give you a better idea of what this is".

Ok. Job. Things to think about. With the commander? The commander did supply runs? With newcomers that were only there at the pity of their friends?

"Anything I should know about this supply run?" he tried to scope out what any of this was.

"Don't ask questions," Miranda snapped, "there's so much going on here, I can't tell you anything".

"Then what's the point?" Clint pushed. He didn't like this obfuscating. At all. Too much like the mysterious Illusive Man who had suddenly taken an interest in him for comfort. 

"I'm sure you'll figure out a lot more than me," Miranda finally smiled at him, "there are many things that can only be said outside of this office".

Oh. Ok. This was ok. This he could understand. 

"You should go to medical though," Miranda continued, "Doctor Chakwas will sleep better if she's met you, how's the hearing?"

Clint shrugged. The hearing was never good. Hearing aids sucked. No one signed (except in autist colonies, but those were mythical lands he'd never had a chance to visit). She knew all that.

"If you talk to Mordin, he might have some interesting ideas," Miranda told him, "or you can continue as is"

As is meant hearing aids. 

Who even was this Mordin?

The door to Miranda's office swished open.

"Yeoman Chambers," Miranda's smile turned strained. 

A short redhead stood in the door.

"Is this the newcomer?" she looked awkwardly at Clint.

"Yes, this is operative and security officer Clint Barton," she stressed the titles, "Clint, this is Kelly Chambers, she keeps track of communications and personnel and psychoanalyzes us in the process".

Just what Clint needed, another shrink.

Chambers babbled, "Well, it's more like I use my experiences..."

"I don't need another explanation Chambers," Miranda cut her off, "and the answer is still no".

"But how can I do anything if I lack information?" the girl whined back.

"Your job, for a start," Miranda made a show of ignoring her, "medical records are private and the fact that I've let you see so many is a definite lapse on my part, the only people touching Barton's file will be me and Dr. Chakwas."

The yeoman huffed and stormed out.

"So no one knows?" Clint realized that that was a new thing for him, a blank slate...almost.

"You heard what I said," Miranda considered, "Jacob Taylor probably has an idea, but he doesn't have access."

Oh yeah. Jacob. The asshole that had ditched Miranda. Why was he here?

"He's better now, professional," Miranda recognized his expression, "I forgave him a long time ago".

"it's my job, as your friend, to tell you that he's not someone worth forgiving," Clint pushed.

"Good thing I'm just your executive officer then".

Ouch.


	3. Normandy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick history/terminology in case it isn't clear
> 
> AHL: Alliance Health Legislations
> 
> Box: a magical transition machine! originally from the turians, whose culture actively promotes transition, and then adapted for human biology.   
> Binary Legalities: A section of the AHL that marks transness as illegal under punishment of death  
> Purge: The resulting genocide of trans people immediately after the Binary Legalities were instituted. 
> 
> Side note on autist colonies: The AHL listed autism as a disease and forced various "cure" techniques, which then incited a lot of counterprotesting. The colonies were the solution - the Alliance has no jurisdiction over the colonies, but any human that leaves the colony will have to submit to AHL. Because of this, colonies end up as a safe haven for more than just autistic people.

Shepard had too much on her mind to consider the arrival of Miranda's friend a huge event. It was Miranda's job to do that. He was on board, she would meet him on the supplies run, that was good enough. 

She tried to block out what had happened the night before. Alcohol, batarians, telling Garrus things she probably shouldn't tell him. That was over. 

Today, she had to talk to Mordin about some upgrades and set a course from Haestrom. She wanted Tali. She wanted distraction. 

She was not expecting to see…

What even was his name? Shepard wracked her brain. Kid that had run with the Reds. She eyed him as he talked with Jacob and did a scan of the weapons. 

Oh. 

Shepard could never forget Hawkeye. Drama queen. Freakishly good aim. Never ate. Starved her…himself to death. Or well, she and the others had left…him for dead, apparently that hadn't actually happened. 

Kid that had obviously been boxed. Well, that made two of them. Kind of awkward, honestly. 

Might as well get this over with. 

"Hawkeye," she feigned confidence. 

This was the first time she had ever met someone from before she was boxed. Except Anderson. But he was Anderson. This was different. This was terrifying.

He turned and his eyes widened, "You really are Fairy".

"Times change," Shepard played nonchalant. (Not the "holy hell this person just called me by my old name, fuck" that was going on in her mind), "what are you doing here?"

She knew damn well what he was doing here. He had joined Cerberus. He was Miranda's friend. What was his name? Barton. 

"I'm pretty sure you approved my transfer," he stepped away from the weapons table, "what do I call you?"

She almost missed being called Fairy, being someone magical simply because she could throw blue glowing balls of biotics.

"Commander will do," she ignored the memories, "Operative Barton".

She was very aware of Jacob watching. 

A slight smile crossed the kid's, the man's, lips at that. His relaxation was enough to clear Shepard's thoughts. This was a new member of her crew. She still had protocol and shit to get done and all of that.

"How are you settling in then?" she asked politely.

"Just got here," he shrugged, "it's as good a place as any".

Miranda had fought tooth and nail to get him on board. Why didn't he share her pleasure at being here?

"Would you like a tour?" she found herself asking.

"The Commander has time for that?" his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Jacob laughed, "You learn very quickly that Shepard's a miracle worker that loves avoiding responsibilities".

True. Jacob should know, he was particularly good at helping her avoid responsibility. 

"I'm a soldier, not an administrator," Shepard shrugged, "I do what counts".

"Hasn't gotten anyone killed yet," Jacob nodded, "it's as good a method as any".

Hasn't gotten anyone killed yet…yet…

She'd gotten so many people killed. And all she could do was stand up again and get more people killed. And apparently it was fine simply because she was Commander Shepard and apparently knew what she was doing.

"Hey," Barton was reading her expression, "how about that tour? I'd like to properly catch up".

Yeah. Tour.

She smiled at him, "Have you ever sparred a tank bred krogan before?"

***

Mordin liked Clint. Grunt liked Clint. Kasumi reeeaaallly liked Clint (though not as much as she liked Jacob). Garrus liked Clint. Chakwas liked Clint. Joker was skeptical about Clint. EDI, of course, did not like or dislike Clint, but Clint seemed a lot more comfortable with her than with the rest of the crew. 

Shepard liked Clint and distrusted him in equal measure.

He knew her secret. What if he told someone? Garrus knowing was bad enough, but she could trust him. What if Clint told someone that wasn't a turian?

It wouldn't matter, she wasn't an alliance soldier anymore. But it did matter, because she was still an alliance soldier in her core being. She would always be an N7. No matter what uniform she put on. And the Alliance could still kill her and she doubted Cerberus would bring her back to life knowing she was boxed. Sick. 

Clint had the power to ruin everything in his hands. And, unlike Garrus, she didn't know what he'd do with it. Having him on the Normandy could get her killed.

He beat her to the punch when they were in the elevator back to the crew decks. 

"Can we talk about the elephant in the room?" he looked around, "um, elevator, I mean?"

"Which one?" Shepard tensed.

"Boxes," he said, as the door opened.

Miranda was standing right at the elevator door, shit.

She just raised an amused eyebrow at Clint, "What kind are we talking here?"

Clint glanced at Shepard. She tried to telepathically communicate to him that no, she had never talked about this with Miranda, she was his commanding officer and the conversation was over. 

He glanced back at Miranda, who shook her head slightly at him. 

"The cardboard ones on earth," he shrugged, "they were crap in the rain".

Shepard hoped the relief on her face wasn't too visible.

"Well, I see you've met Shepard," Miranda pushed passed them into the elevator, "don't try anything, she could rip off your head in ten seconds".

Five. Shepard had lived among enough men in her life to know how to stop them before they tried anything. Clint wouldn't deserve a warning, if it was an issue. 

"I think we should catch up in my room," Shepard decided, "I have beer".

***

"So, boxes…" Clint brought the subject back almost immediately, "How'd yours happen?"

"Why do I have to go first?" Shepard didn't like talking about this. At all.

"Because you're not part of the Network," Clint picked up his beer, "that means your story is probably a lot more interesting than my generic one". 

"Network?"

"Oh, you know," Clint waved his bottle around, "those of us that exist, we stay in touch, in our own ways. Group commune on Palaven protected by turians for those of us that aren't stupid enough to risk other humans."

She could have stayed in touch? Shepard had assumed that the moment she had left the compound with the Box, it was over, that they couldn't risk anymore contact. Had she been wrong?

"I made a deal with a man," she plunged in before she could stop herself, "he'd get me boxed if I joined the Alliance."

"Cipritine?"

"Yeah".

"Oh," he looked disappointed, "I thought for a moment that there might be more left".

"More?"

"You're not part of the Network," he shrugged and leaned back, "means you could have been Boxed somewhere else, I guess."

Only one Box had survived. And barely. She understood. More Boxes, more chances of helping people. More chances of saving people. Because taking on society wasn't really something they could do, but they could survive. 

They. 

There were more. 

There were other kids like her, ones that hadn't lived through the Purge, just faced the scars anyways. 

"What about you?" she knocked back her beer.

"Pretty similar," he shrugged, "Cerberus owns the Box, they liked my aim, we worked out a deal."

Interesting.

"Does that mean you're as human-centric as the rest of them?" Shepard couldn't help but ask. He had seemed fine with Grunt earlier, but it could have been faked. He was still Cerberus. A lot of the Cerberus crew was good at hiding their distrust for the non-humans on board, but it was easy enough to see. Even Miranda, who never expressed anything, tensed whenever Garrus got too close. 

"It's hard to be anti-alien when your entire existence is based off of a turian design," he contemplated his bottle, "you want to know where my loyalties lie? They don't lie with you, but they don't lie with Cerberus either. They lie with Miranda".

"She's that important then?" Shepard had forgotten that Miranda somehow or other slotted into this entire picture.

"Honestly?" Clint put down his bottle and met her eye, "she's the only reason I haven't died yet…well, kind of…"

He trailed off. Something he didn't want to discuss. Shepard knew the look. Too many crew members had given it to her in the past. Well, it wasn't her place. No matter how curious she was. 

Just, she had just given him a lot more information than she normally gave anyone. She didn't like that. Commander Jennifer Shepard cared about her crew and got the job done, she most definitely didn't share her history. Particularly with her newest crewmember over a beer. 

***

Miranda's office was becoming one of Shepard's favorite places on the Normandy. They were formal. Miranda drank very little, so Shepard never had a chance to get her drunk and see her as anything but a diligent, second-in-command. They discussed battle tactics, planned out their next missions, tried to sort out exactly what the Collectors were to the Reapers. In truth, most of what they did was redundant, or something Shepard could have done in five minutes over coffee. She was never completely sure why Miranda never questioned this unproductivity, but she appreciated the time they spent together enough to avoid bringing it up.

Despite the formality, there was something truthful about Miranda. She resisted Shepard’s façade. Not like Garrus, who completely disregarded it, but in more subtle ways. When Shepard asked her how she was, she’d ask the same back. If Shepard would set up a weaker front in an attempt to protect her crew when they discussed future battle tactics, she’d just raise her eyebrow, and remind her that she was quite capable of shooting things too, thank you very much. 

And once, Shepard let herself slip. They were looking at maps and maps and maps of solar systems and planets and all she could see were the millions of people who hadn’t chosen anything but a life away from violence, away from war, away from Reapers and Collectors and whatever next horror was out there and the only thing keeping them alive at this moment was this wannabe soldier that just wanted to shoot things and had no people skills and had already died once and who was sick and diseased and should be killed. Fuck.

(Shepard hadn’t been around when the government had issued the Binarity Legalities, but she had been around for the end of the Purge, she knew the dangers of admitting she was boxed and she knew exactly where she stood in the hierarchy of humanity - at the bottom).

But Miranda had just touched her hand, the most familiar she had ever been.

“It's not just you, Shepard,” she said, “We’re here together. And you have too many friends to count. No one is depending on you, but we all believe in you. And we’re here to fight to the end because of that belief, because we want you to do more than succeed, not because we think for a minute that you will fail.” 

Shepard hadn’t been able to speak, just squeeze Miranda’s hand in thanks.

“And Shepard?” Miranda continued, very quietly, “I…I know I keep to formalities and I…stay at a distance. But if you…if you ever just need...someone, I am your executive officer, I can do that too” and Shepard had just squeezed her hand again.


	4. Citadel Security Intelligence Office

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, C-sec has a separate intelligence branch that deals with larger threats to the Citadel that aren't quite spectre-worthy but a little more than the run of the mill security job. Because it makes sense and I feel like it. 
> 
> Vague references to child abuse. Pragia creeps me the hell out.

The information was going to surface eventually, but when it did, it still took Natasha all of her strength not to break down in front of her C-Sec terminal.

Pragia. Teltin facility.

That's where they had kept her. That's where they had tortured her. That's where she had escaped from. 

It was over. 

Natasha Romanoff had better things to do with her life than her past. It was tragic. But now she was tracing a Cerberus leak. That took precedence.

It was coming from the human commune on Cipritine. Technically, it was secret, but she'd manage to uncover it a few years back, because she was good at her job. She hadn't told C-Sec, though´. The commune seemed to be something under Turian jurisdiction, and the turians seemed quite happy to have the little group of humans living there, C-sec didn't need to get involved with something that wouldn't directly endanger the citadel.

And she didn't really want to get a bunch of human lives killed simply because they were the wrong kinds of humans for the Alliance. The one nice thing about being denied a regular education was that she hadn't been as conditioned to hate people for their existence. 

There were always leaks at the commune, the cost of survival, Natasha figured. She normally turned a blind eye unless it was absolutely necessary and then shut things down as quietly as possible if she had to. She understood survival. She also understood being screwed over by Cerberus. 

This was one of those leaks she couldn't really afford to overlook. If Cerberus got their hands on Council communications, the Citadel could be obliterated in a matter of days. 

Natasha, Agent Romanoff from C-sec's intelligence branch, shut down her terminal and stood up. It was time to ignore the past and get back to work.

***

She hadn't wanted to kill the woman. Natasha hardly ever felt regret over murder, it was part of her job, it was expected of her, they had trained her to do it. But this, shooting a woman in her own home for standing up for what she believed in, she hated that.

They had trained her to do it anyways.

Was there anything she had overlooked? Anything she could have done to stop the leak without shooting the woman?

No. They had trained her to evaluate all options. Simulation after simulation after simulation ground into her brain until there was nothing but instincts. 

They were still with her, in every pore of her body, whether she liked it or not.

They had never given her any guidelines with what to do when her mark begged her to kill her. They'd been Cerberus, of course they hadn't given thought to the layers of emotion that a person could hold inside. 

She could have kept the woman hostage and brought her to the Citadel, she knew Pallin would have let her live. 

But the woman was right - living hadn't been an option, it would have destroyed the commune. Natasha had to admire her commitment and her courage, and that's part of what made killing her so much worse. The knowledge that she could have done the same thing to protect the colony, protect Gianna and Tod, protect her family (if people like her could have family, that is, drawing parallels were dangerous). 

She pocketed the instructions the woman had given her. Last requests weren't really her style, but she could make an exception this time. 

Natasha put her sick days to use and decided to take a vacation trip to Pragia. She could use the change of pace. She could use answers.

***

It was strange how vividly she remembered the place. She knew the hallways, the corridors, the rooms. They had only let her roam free once before the riot and yet her mind had it all mapped out as if it was an exercise. Maybe it had been an exercise. One of those simulations that they had forced into her brain. This could still be a strange form of simulation. But she'd accepted that years ago. She liked the way this simulation had ended up, mostly. 

Her cell was small, dark, unchanged. The same marks from when she was a tiny child. From when she had nothing. 

There were voices next door. From the other cell. Zero's cell. 

She had tried to talk to Zero once, outside of the fights. Back when she had first gotten there. The guards had beaten her. She had listened to Zero crying every night, hating her for the emotion when all she could feel was emptiness (she had trained herself to stop crying, the guards didn't like it, Zero had never learned). 

She had fought Zero too many times to count. The only one she couldn't kill. She had hated her for that too. 

Who would be there? (besides the creep that wanted to recreate the facility, Natasha had ignored him, he would never succeed).

Natasha decided to find out. She could afford to be curious now, her past couldn't kill her. 

"Zero," she honestly hadn't expected to see another one of them there, some mercs maybe, definitely not Zero herself, "glad you survived".

The hunched over woman that was definitely Zero, but definitely not the Zero she had heard constantly crying next door to her turned to see her.

"Alpha".

No one had called her that in so long. Subject Alpha. The only non-biotic in a biotic facility. The freak of nature that could block biotic attacks.

No. She was Agent Natasha Romanoff, Citadel intelligence. Coming here was stupid. She refused to be Subject Alpha.

"I'm Natasha now," she hoped that would be enough.

Zero nodded, "Jack".

Jack. Short, simple, to the point. Natasha had never known her, but she suddenly understood Jack, the name (and the tattoos) said everything. She wondered what her choice of name said about her. To others. She knew what it meant to her. 

There were two other people with Jack, a redhead woman (Commander Shepard, the first human spectre) and a turian.

She knew the turian, Vakarian, he used to work for C-sec, she'd been helping him on a money laundering case when he'd gone missing to join Shepard, she'd tracked him for a while before he dropped off the map completely, around the time of Shepard's death. He was one of the good ones. She'd liked working with him. 

"Agent Romanoff," he recognized her too (she hadn't bothered with disguise for the trip,but now, she realized, it would have been useful, if the rumors were true that Shepard was working with Cerberus...)

Why would Zero work with Cerberus?

"None of us are Cerberus," Jack seemed to read her expression, understand, "I'd never work for those bastards".

Good.

"So the rumors aren't true?" she stared directly at Shepard. She knew she should probably respect the first human spectre, considering they both worked for the council in similar ways, but she had learned long ago that it was better to keep people on their toes than follow the chain of command.

"Cerberus funds the mission," Shepard met her gaze unflinchingly, "I direct it".

"Trust me, she isn't Cerberus," Jack murmured.

Natasha didn't trust her. Natasha didn't trust anyone.

"We're setting a bomb," Shepard spoke plainly, "you got a way out?"

A tiny little shuttle craft that would never escape a blast even if it left orbit now. 

"I could use a lift," Natasha admitted, ignoring the screams in her head that she'd rather die than survive on Cerberus money. They had taken her, beat her, messed with her brain, twisted her into something disgusting, she didn't trust them.

"If you think I'm a Cerberus sell out, then kill me," it was Vakarian that spoke, "you know where my loyalties lie".

She knew where they lied five years ago while he was climbing the ranks of C-sec. That didn't say much now. 

"Here's the actual question," Jack approached her, "how much do you want this place gone".

"It's never going away," Natasha admitted, more to herself, "it will always be there, in my head".

"Fuck that," Jack turned her back, "we have to be better than that, do you want to blow this place up or not?"

Yes. Yes she did.

"I would like a ride," Natasha repeated more clearly, "I'm due back at the citadel in five days."

"Sounds good," Shepard nodded, "I have some business with an arms dealer to take care of there anyways".

It was too simple. The kindness of someone she'd never met. 

It would have to do.

Natasha Romanoff would trust people. She would watch this place blow to pieces and leave her past behind. She would be better than what they made her to be.

***

The Normandy was covered in Cerberus logos.

"I tried to get them removed," Shepard whispered conspiratorially in her ear, "some secret department's putting up a fuss apparently, it's obnoxious, though". 

Natasha didn't care. 

Jack dragged her into the shuttle bay, "Want to spar?"

Just like old times. Except they wouldn't be fighting to kill, they'd be fighting to explore.

"I've learned a few tricks since I last saw you," Natasha glanced at Jack, "are you sure you're up for it?" 

Jack sent a shockwave at her and she sidestepped it. Biotics, or well, not getting hurt by biotics, were her thing. She pulled out her gun. And aimed, Jack ducked at the last minute and sent a raw biotic blast at her. Natasha could feel the rush of power around her. She'd learned soon after escaping the facility that, while she'd never be able to produce biotics, she could still manipulate them. She sent it hurtling back after Jack in a new form and felt a jolt of pride when it knocked the other one off her feet.

"You definitely have some tricks," Jack smiled at her, "so do I". 

She charged Natasha and threw her against the back wall, hard. Ouch. Except now she was hanging a few feet above the ground. How had Jack managed to glue her to the wall without biotics? 

It was a pressure field of sorts with her biotics. None of it was directly affecting Natasha, just the air around her. Clever. But breakable. 

They continued. The battle of biotics and a few easily-dodged bullets became hand to hand became wrestling. It was the hardest fight she had had in a long time and it felt good. 

Natasha was used to sparring turians, which was mainly an art in pummelling her opponent before they pummelled her (and avoiding the spikes). Jack was nuanced, subtle, not as large as a turian, but much quicker, and with an endurance that no one who hadn't been in Teltin could understand, and she knew how Natasha fought. She had to do a lot more than bash and crash to hold her own.

She was hovering in a strange place between instinct and creativity - the old patterns of sparring with Zero with the very new skills she had and Jack had. 

"You done yet?" a voice came from behind them, "I'm bored".

There was a krogan standing at the door to the shuttle bay. That was interesting. Shepard had a turian and a krogan on bored and Cerberus was funding this? 

"Grunt," Jack called, "come join us".

She turned and grinned at Natasha, "Grunt was created, like us".

Then she fired a shockwave at Grunt, it knocked him over.

"Unlike you, biotics do affect him," Jack shrugged and went flying as the krogan headbutted her. 

The Normandy was a lot more exciting than the Citadel.


	5. En route to the Citadel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of OCs. And Samara. 
> 
> I was doing some number crunching the other day with timelines and dates, so sharing this because I feel like it - Clint was (most likely) born in 2164, the same year the Binary Legalities were implemented (making him the only main character in this fic to be (possibly) born after them), he is currently 23...
> 
> Warning for death of a random OC.

At first Clint didn't recognize the new passenger (friend of Jack's, drop off at the Citadel, that was what he had been told in the briefing for their next leg), because the last time he had seen her, she had been blond, and extracting information from a volus in the presidium. 

The redhead onboard the Normandy was not what he expected.

What did he expect? He knew she was a spy, changing appearance and showing up in weird places was her job. He'd track her for a good two weeks. 

It wouldn't be a problem, of course, if he had killed her like he was supposed to. She was the reason he had been put on punishment detail in the first place. Renata had been pissed at the insubordination. But, in the end, it had been simple. He wasn't going to kill someone simply for working with turians. 

Now, with Eva's words in his head, it took on a lot more meaning. What price was he willing to pay for his safety? A stranger's life? It wasn't like paying his own life had worked out. 

He crossed paths with her once during the entire three day trip to the Citadel when he went down to engineering to play cards with Gabby and Ken and a woman had walked up from Jack's...basement. 

And. Oh shit. That was his mark, as in, the one he hadn't killed and had gotten him the punishment duty in Kepler (that Miranda had dragged him out of, unaware of it being punishment, thank god).

He ducked his head and turned back to the game at hand, hoping fervently that she had never seen his face.

"I almost killed you but hopefully you know nothing about that and are unaware of my existence" was a really awkward relationship to have with someone especially when that person had the name of a fictional character that the fictional character he was named after also didn't kill. 

Why couldn't things just be simple? 

***

Despite the card games and the conversations over coffee, he knew everyone saw him as a loner, an outsider, a good shot that was useful, but not part of the team. He preferred it that way.

He was on the Normandy for Miranda. Because he owed her more than his life was worth and if she wanted him there, alive, he'd do it. 

Sometimes he wondered about Shepard (she wasn't Fairy anymore, Fairy had been a quiet showoff, a little too clever, a little too subtle, they had never liked each other. Clint liked Shepard). Who had been the man who got her to the commune? Did she owe him the same kind of debt? Or was it different in the Alliance? 

They never really talked after the first conversation. She was either planning or drinking or fighting and Clint should be doing the planning and the fighting too (security on a ship going after the collectors took more strategy than he'd had the opportunity to consider in a long time, also a lot of racial awareness because the Cerberus people onboard inevitably pissed off every other race whenever they had a chance and Mordin in a mood was worse than a krogan because mad scientists were generally dangerous). Instead, he had a habit of spending his free time on the observation deck. He could sit and look at the stars (thinking about where he was supposed to be) and avoid people at the same time, and not do any of his responsibilities. 

He got through personal briefings with Miranda with a minimum of glares, though, so he considered it all right. The time alone gave him time to think.

Except they had recruited a new asari on Illium and she had taken up in the observation deck and Clint ended up awkwardly stumbling in on her meditating.

He really didn't want to go somewhere else. The stars were nice.

"Do you, um, mind if I sit here," he wasn't sure if she (were asari even she to begin with?) could hear him, "I kind of like the stars and the other observation deck is..."

Full of romantic hooded thief. Clint had nothing against Kasumi, honestly. It wasn't even the fact she seemed to have a new way to ask him to fuck her every time she saw him (he had a feeling she was mostly talk there and he was definitely her second choice, considering what she said about Taylor). Just, everything she did reeked so much of romance, it made him feel nauseous. She had an entire collection of real book romance novels. It was nauseating. 

"Not at all," the asari accepted his words without the explanation of why the other observation deck was off limits, she turned to him, "I didn't catch your name before".

"Uh, Clint," he sat down on the couch, far enough away not to disturb her, "Clint Barton".

"I hope you don't mind my lack of social graces, Clint Barton," she smiled at him, "it has been a long time since I have worked with others".

Well, another loner. The whole recruiting the best fighters in the galaxy thing did tend to make them a bunch of loners. 

"Missed your name too," he figured that was safe. It was unclear if she wanted to talk or meditate. And he had come in to avoid people, but he figured a conversation with a fellow loner wouldn't be that bad.

"Samara," the asari responded briefly, but kept looking at him. She wanted to talk. Clint had no idea how to do that.

"So, you were...meditating?" he kicked himself for the terrible question. Of course she was meditating. 

"I do it daily," Samara responded, "it helps me balance and build my powers".

"Shrink was told me to meditate," Clint couldn't keep from grumbling. He'd been so pissed off he hadn't bothered trying. 

"I do not know if it works the same for humans," Samara thought, "or those who do not have biotic abilities".

Yeah, he was null there. Eyes. That was his magic power. Perfect vision. Not as cool as biotics, but definitely good for something.

"I don't know either," he admitted, "never actually tried it".

"Would you like to?"

The immediate answer was no. Of course not. He didn't need to pull some bullshit eastern spiritual practice in order to organize his thoughts or whatever. He needed to shoot things. And coffee. It would help him get the job done.

Except this was an asari and not a human asking him. She didn't know anything about him. She didn't even know if he could meditate. 

This was the kind of thing that reminded him this wasn't actually a Cerberus mission. Cultural mixing and all that. Might as well take advantage before it was too late.

He sat himself cross-legged next to Samara, "I have no idea how to even begin".

***

Miranda called him into her office as he was leaving the observation deck.

"Where the hell have you been?" she glared at him. Wait. Had he missed a briefing? He didn't think so. Was there something else important he'd missed?

"Meditating," he shrugged, "I've heard it does wonders for the suicide".

It had actually been nice. Not life-changing, like the shrink had said, just nice. He'd been able to see the stars clearer with his eyes closed and without light bearing down on his eyes, it had been easier to slot his loose thoughts into place. They were already starting to come undone though, so it was sadly a temporary kind of nice. 

Miranda didn't do her regular eye roll or dramatic sigh she saved for his obnoxious comments. Fuck. He tried to think through his last reports. Everything he'd done was up to spec, right? Whatever it was, she was obviously waiting for him to figure it out. She sat staring at him and he squirmed uncomfortably.

This was why it was good that he'd been one of Renata's underlings and not ever been cleared to work with Miranda. He was bad with authority he couldn't crush like a steamroller, she knew that. 

"You didn't get the message," she murmured finally. 

"What message?"

"I just got off a call with Angel," Miranda hesitated, "Carol's dead".

But Carol couldn't be dead. Because she had been the one to drag him out of a dumpster in fucking Glasgow and they'd grown up together and she was more capable than anyone in the commune, she'd been in the fucking underground. And she was in the commune and younger than Miranda. There was absolutely no reason for her to be dead. 

"Did she get sick?" he fought to understand.

Miranda shook her head, "shot".

The words "shot" and "commune" did not go together. Ever. Carol couldn't be dead because that was impossible. People didn't shoot people in the commune. It had to be a joke.

But Miranda wasn't that cruel. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. 

"What happened?" he needed…answers, an explanation, anything. He needed to talk to Carol. 

"No one knows exactly," she sighed, "they found her body about a week ago, shot in the head."

"Why'd they wait so long to tell us?" an entire fucking week.

"Apparently Zen thought they could save her, she passed officially two hours ago".

While he was meditating. He should never have bothered trying that thing. 

"Fuck this," he clenched his fists, "why can't we just live? Without having to pay back debts and do bullshit and get shot?"

Carol was dead. Carol was dead. Carol was dead. Maybe if he said it enough, he'd believe it. 

The price wasn't worth it. 

Miranda didn't respond. Breathing became slightly impossible. Because if she'd been shot, that meant someone had shot her. Someone that didn't belong there. 

"We need to position someone at the compound," he choked out, "in case, because it was…"

Someone who hated them. Who wanted Carol killed without ever knowing her. 

"You can do that right?" he pushed, "take one of us off duty? Protect us?"

"I can't do anything," Miranda shook her head, "I…did...some things the Illusive Man didn't like, the high up position is pretty fake right now, I have absolutely no power and Eva's dropped off the grid, no one knows how to contact her".

Damn. 

She handed him a data pad, "I booked you an appointment with Sidnus so you can get to the memorial, I…won't".

"You won't?" Miranda had been all the way over in Sigurd's Cradle when Isu had died, and she had showed up the next day.

"Things are tight," her mouth was a hard line, "too many humans taking a holiday on Cipritine would attract notice".

Was she not going so he could go?

"Shepard would understand," he didn't think he could go alone. 

"I'd rather not risk it," she looked miserable, "give Zen my regards, give them all my regards".

***

Halfway through the memorial, Clint found himself with a tiny kid clinging to him, sobbing. He patted the kid's shoulder absently and tried not to be jealous of the display of emotion. What had Eva said? She was crying because she wouldn't be able to later. 

He should have gotten a lot more crying done earlier. 

Eva wasn't there. The only two people missing were Eva and Miranda. The only two people Clint knew that answered directly to the Illusive Man. And someone had been shot within the walls of the commune. It was hard to feel safe, it was hard to trust.

But Miranda couldn't be guilty, could she?

The price was too high. 

"It's ok to hurt me".

He hugged the kid closer. They hardly ever got kids in the commune. He was glad, because kids were wonderful, and he was horrified because kids shouldn't be exposed to this kind of shit. They should be happy and loved and safe, not clinging onto a stranger because someone they loved had died and fearing for their life.

"Kate's lucky," Rhys told him later, "their parents did their research, sent them here instead of kicking them out".

Better than most. Not good enough. 

"Not sure if that's much better," Clint muttered, staring after the kid as they scrambled into Angel's arms. Communal kid. Nice. Selfish. 

"Better than eating banana peels out of a dumpster," Rhys shrugged, "at least they're not facing this alone".

"It better be worth the price later on," Clint thought about the plants Rhys tended in the greenhouse and shuddered inwardly. How many had ended up in some salarian's drink simply for not being human? How long would Cerberus' need for poison keep Rhys alive?

Who would come into their community and shoot them next?

Why couldn't they have time to properly mourn Carol's death without having to turn immediately to safety and fear and survival? 

Kate ran up to him and vaulted into his arms.

"Strong," he considered. Cerberus would want to recruit them. Hopefully Kate wouldn't want to be recruited. 

"Are you going to stay?" they looked at him with big brown puppy eyes.

"Sadly, Miri's coming to take me away tomorrow," he informed her, "I have to do some things for the galaxy".

"Are you going to avenge Carol?" 

Wait what?

"Zen was reading me the comics the other day, the Avengers, like you," they grinned at him as if he could fix every grey cloud in the sky. 

"It's just a name, kid," he set them back on the ground. 

Why was everyone here so damn hopeful all the time?


	6. Executive Office

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: transmisogyny, acephobia

Miranda was not in a good mood. There'd been no word from the commune, which meant that everything was ok, but still...she was anxious and worried that something terrible had happened there. And Carol was...

She'd have to accept that someday. Maybe not today though. 

And on top of all that, Jacob had come by earlier, asking leading questions, and now all she could think about was that disastrous date. She could still remember his look of disbelief and disgust – how could anyone not want to sleep with him? especially her? (it wasn’t like she was ever going to get anyone better, considering she was boxed). And considering the clothing she wore, she must be really really desperate for sex.

She wanted to punch him in the face. Maybe she just didn’t think sex was all that great. Maybe it just wasn’t her goal. Maybe she wore the clothing she did because it made her feel powerful, not because she was desperate. In fact, the last thing she wanted was sex, and that did not make her sick or weird or fucked up, no matter what Jacob said. 

Though sometimes she believed him, and that’s when she wanted to punch him the most.

The only good thing she could say about Jacob was his professionalism. She had been worried about his assignment to Lazarus, and the Normandy, but they still worked well together, as long as they weren’t going on dates, and he wasn’t demanding sex from her. 

Tea. Tea would help, it soothed her and made everything feel better. Then maybe she could start filing through those new reports and figuring out what to actually tell the Illusive Man and what to hide in the bottom drawer of her desk, the one that locked with a key from the twentieth century and couldn’t be hacked by omnitool. 

Garrus was in the mess hall…with Jacob. She considered storming dramatically back into her room, but she couldn’t let Jacob beat her in professionalism. She was Miranda Erica Lawson, she was perfect, and Jacob Taylor would not get the better of her. 

Jacob nodded at her when she walked in and Garrus looked up and waved. His mandibles flicked out a bit, she thought that meant pleasure, turians couldn’t properly smile, which made her feel a little off. He seemed pleased to see her, though, and that made her pleased. For some reason, she felt like she needed Garrus’ approval. He was, in some ways, a test – her first time working with an alien (besides Mordin, but he was mainly in the lab, they didn’t really interact very often), particularly one that was trusted by Shepard. 

“Eden Prime was the beginning of the end for me…” Jacob was telling Garrus. She tuned him out, it was a story she had heard numerous times, and set to tea-making. 

“What about you, Miranda?” Garrus had turned towards her, “What important, life-changing events brought you here?”

It was the same half lie over and over again.

“Cerberus offered me protection from my father,” she responded, pouring her tea, “that’s really all”. 

She could feel Jacob’s eyes boring into her back. The one person on the ship who knew she was lying and he was too busy judging her to be supportive. She could imagine the words going through his head right now – freak, weird, deceptive, sick. The hand holding the mug started shaking and she put it down on the counter abruptly, barely avoiding the boiling water that sloshed over the sides. 

No. Jacob was wrong. Whatever he thought was wrong. She wouldn’t let one stupid man, one stupid date ruin her. She breathed deeply and picked the mug up again, leaned against the counter, the perfect picture of nonchalant.

Garrus’ mandibles were pulled in a little and he was staring at her. Was that worry? She couldn’t tell. He seemed to be able to read her emotions, better than humans even, and that was disconcerting. 

Jacob stood up and stretched (he was always uncomfortable with silence, Miranda wasn’t sure if she was pleased things like that hadn’t changed since they had properly been friends).

“I should probably get back to the armory,” he announced, “check up on some things. Lovely talking to you Garrus, we should do it again sometime”.

Garrus looked up and his mandibles flicked out again (so Garrus had enjoyed the conversation, Miranda was pleased about that, she had nothing against Jacob, just what he seemed to think of her), “Likewise Jacob”.

He detoured towards Miranda on the way out.

“He deserves better than you,” Jacob whispered in her ear before making his exist. 

This time she didn’t pull her hand away quick enough and the tea burnt her hands. 

Why they hell would Garrus need to deserve her anyways? She was (technically, not in practice) his superior. 

“You ok?” Garrus was back to his worried expression, “You seem tense”.

“How would you know without those subvocal things?” she demanded angrily, unwilling to admit he was right. But she didn’t want to be rude to Garrus…shit.

“C-sec handbook,” he responded evenly, “We learned to recognize basic emotions of most species. Your shoulders are tight, your movements are somewhat jerky, and you’re failing to meet eye contact, that normally means a human is tense”.

“I could use that kind of training,” she grumbled, picking up her tea again (she was going to drink it if it was going to take her all day, dammit), “downside of working in a human-centric organization”.

Then what Garrus said caught up with her.

“Wait, you were in C-sec?” she was curious now, “thought you were the more lawless type”.

“Aren’t you supposed to already know that stuff before recruiting me?” Garrus sounded amused.

“I told you, I wasn’t on recruiting duty,” she responded, “I can only see the official files, the ones created for Shepard. Either they didn’t know who you were or were trying to surprise her”.

“Thought you were some super-trusted operative or something”

“It’s punishment, really,” Miranda was surprised at how easily the explanation came out, “Punishment and façade. The Illusive Man’s angry at me, so he removes my privileges, but since I’m his most trusted operative, and there’s really no one else to take that spot, he’ll continue to publically trust me with everything”.

Garrus was silent, his mandibles slowly flicking out and in (contemplation?). She sipped at her tea and willed herself to breath. Why was she talking? This was quite possibly leaking classified information (though, a little voice reminded her, it had never been specified as classified). She just needed to talk, grumble, be angry and frustrated, but she was Miranda Erica Lawson, she didn’t need friends.

“What’s your façade?” Garrus interrupted her thoughts. What?

She looked at him in confusion, hopefully his C-sec training prepared him for that emotion.

“It’s just, that’s the Illusive Man’s façade,” Garrus shrugged, “You seem to have one too, a personal one, separate from the Illusive Man and Cerberus…I guess that’s probably private, sorry, I’m kind of nosy…” he looked extremely uncomfortable and Miranda felt a kind of pity for him. He was fine with a sniper rifle in his hand and mercs on their way to kill him, but socializing was apparently impossible, and Miranda knew how intimidating she could be, even when she was tense. She liked it that way. 

“It’s all right,” she tried to reassure him, “Problem is, I wouldn’t be able to answer it anyways. I don’t where the façade ends and the truth begins. Maybe I’m just all façade”.

She really needed to stop trusting Garrus with personal information, she had no reason to trust him in the first place. (Except for the fact that he talked to her as a person, not some weird Cerberus spy. That had to count for something, right?)

“Or maybe it’s all you,” Garrus responded darkly, “Not like there aren’t many layers to a person…”

Miranda could sense he wasn’t saying something, so she raised her eyebrows, it did tend to work on people (she just enjoyed intimidating people, Garrus was easily intimidated).

“I just,” Garrus shook his head, “I don’t know who I am without Shepard, anymore.” He shrugged, “I was lost, floating, sick of C-sec but not wanting to be anywhere else, and then this woman, this Spectre, came in, said she was going to chase after the guy I was chasing, except without the paperwork. And then she died…and, instead of moving on, I moved back, back to C-sec, back to when I didn’t have any control over my life. And she comes back from the dead two years later and I follow her without question…Spirits know what my façade is, or who I am”.

He shook his head, staring at the table, “Sorry,” he mumbled, “We just met, you didn’t need to hear that”.

Miranda wasn’t quite sure what she was doing or why, she felt an urge to comfort Garrus. She put her tea down (no splashing this time) and walked across to put her hand on his shoulder. She had failed to compensate for the cowl and the armour, though, she really wasn’t touching anything. She awkwardly adjusted to touch his hand. 

“You’re still you,” she said, trying (and failing) to be comforting, “and you wouldn’t be here in the first place, with Shepard, if that wasn’t true. You were a person long before joining her”.

He nodded and his mandibles flicked out minutely. Miranda patted his hand uncomfortably, not really sure what to do. (She could barely comfort a human, why did she think she could comfort a turian?). 

Happily, Garrus solved the problem by awkwardly standing up.

“Thanks,” he nodded at her, “I should probably go calibrate something now”. 

She knew it was an excuse but she let him get away with it, she needed the out too. 

“Good talking to you,” she nodded at him. He nodded back and started to leave, and turned back around.

“You may be a Cerberus spy,” he gestured in her direction, “but I like you”.

“I like you too,” she whispered, in hopes he wouldn’t hear on his way to the battery, and pleased that his super turian hearing meant that he would.

***

Garrus appeared in her door the next day, "Are we stopping in Cipritine long?"

"Hopefully not even," she informed him, "we're sending a shuttle, we need to be on Illium to recruit a drell".

"Oh," he looked disappointed.

"If there's anything you need there, we could ask Cl…Barton to pick it up for you," she offered.

"No," he shrugged, "Sol just said some bad stuff happened to a group of humans we used to spend time with. I lost touch when I joined the military, but still…it would be nice to check in".

Oh. 

"I know who you're talking about," she said quietly, "I can pass on your sympathies, they'll be glad to hear from you".

He stared at her levelly for a moment, "You did mention that before, but I wasn't sure if you meant another compound".

"There's only one human compound there," she cut her gaze. This was too much information. Why did she care what some old-buddy of Shepard's thought of her? Even if he was Solana's brother?

He just nodded, "I'd appreciate it". 

He settled back in his chair and Miranda turned back to her work. It wasn't her problem if he didn't want to leave. She still had things to get done. 

"Are you going to have tea?" he asked eventually. 

"Why are you asking?"

"Well, I was thinking of having a beer," his head tilted, "thought it might be nice to share".

"Yeah," Miranda shoved the data pad away from her, "yeah, that would be nice".

***

Clint was sitting in her office, feet up on the desk, stuffing chips into his mouth when she got back. Oh yeah, she'd asked him to visit her as soon as he was on board because they still had to debrief Ilium, as in the incident where some volus had threatened the requisitions officer, also the Cerberus officer that had punched a turian in the face at some bar.

Sometimes she wondered why Clint was the one in charge of delicate interspecies matters, and then remembered that his lack of delicacy was the reason. He annoyed everyone equally and got the job done.

"You're late," he stuffed more chips in his mouth and shoved something in her direction.

A photograph. Of all their faces - mostly familiar, a few new ones, one child perched on Angel's shoulders. It was dangerous to have this but she didn't mind. It was...she missed them. She sat down at her desk and opened her private drawer. 

"Sorry," Miranda twisted the key, "I needed tea, and thanks". 

He munched, "You're never late, you're perfect".

"Maybe I'm done with being perfect," she told him.

"Rumor on the ship is that Garrus has you distracted," Clint mused around the chips, "was Taylor seriously your last date?"

She did not need this to become a debriefing of her nonexistent relationships.

"Dating's not something I really have time for," she wondered if she could shove Clint's feet off her desk, they were on her data pad, as in, the one she needed for what they were actually supposed to be doing. 

"Well, you're doing better than me," Clint removed his feet of his own accord, "so don't come asking for advice".

Didn't Clint sleep with everyone? He'd already made good work of most of the Cerberus crew.

"Sex isn't dating," he added, "you want advice on that, I'd be happy to comply".

"No thank you," Miranda didn't need sex. Or want it. And, if she did, she definitely wouldn't go to Clint for advice.

"So are you going to debrief me or what?" Clint crossed his arms.

Or what.

She grabbed the data pad, "Why don't you tell me what happened with requisitions then?"

He launched into a story.

It was a quick debrief. No actual damage done, no governments too angry at them, Clint's work was higher quality than usual. It wasn't his usual go in, shoot, say things bluntly, exit strategy. It was actually thought through, thorough, kind even. 

She figured pointing that out would send him running.

"Hey Miri?" he hadn't left yet, even though she had moved on to writing the official Cerberus report (a lot of editing and generalization required). She made a noise to tell him she was listening.

"What's the price you're paying?"

"What?"

"To stay alive, you know," he put the chip he was holding back in the bag, "not get killed like this".

She had thought she'd known once. And then she'd rebuilt Shepard and she really didn't know anymore. 

Except she knew exactly what price she paid. She just hated saying it. 

"All the ones I couldn't save," she whispered, "there were kids I've had to…pass up to stay under the radar". 

"Was it worth it?" 

"No," she shook her head, "and yes. I just wish there was another way". 

Clint offered her a chip, "We all do".


	7. Presidium, hopefully a cafe

Natasha didn't realize who she was sitting across from until it was too late.

"Shit," she muttered to herself and then, "I'm going to owe you big time for all the times you've saved my life."

The guy looked at her in confusion. Had she read the first situation wrong? She was pretty sure he'd been sent to kill her and hadn't just a few months ago. And then wasn't he on the Normandy when Jack and Shepard had given her a ride back from the explosion?

Oh yeah. Her hair was pink this time, that was the problem.

"Natasha Romanoff," she signaled a waiter, "thanks for not killing me that time, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't give away my cover".

The waiter approached and she ordered a coffee.

Recognition dawned on the guy's face. What if he'd been wrong, what if he was working with the Blue Suns on this and this was a trap?

Too much of a gamble for them that this would be the table she chose. She'd have to take the risk. He'd had plenty of chances to fuck her over already, that had to mean he didn't want to, right?

"I was hoping you didn't know about that," he said instead, "why should I cover you?"

"I only noticed when you were packing up, you would've succeeded," how she hated admitting that, she hadn't been good enough, she'd missed something, her life had been dependent on a man's random choice, "the Blue Suns are moving towards child trafficking, my name's Christine, we're old friends from Alliance training".

His eyes had narrowed at the mention of child trafficking. 

"It's good to see you Christine," he smiled again, "it's been a while".

What was going on his head? Why was he playing along so easily? Why hadn't he killed her? She didn't even know if he worked for Cerberus, because most of the people at that ship didn't and it seemed to be in this weird limbo between Cerberus, the Alliance and Citadel. He wasn't Citadel, she knew that.

They continued the conversation. He was quick. Either he'd done undercover work before or he was a very good liar or he was telling the truth.

Street kid turned Alliance sounded pretty legit, but she wouldn't trust it.

She couldn't trust it.

Out of the corner of her eye, the mercs that had been watching her faded away. She had secured her story for the time being. 

"I'll pay," she dug out her Citadel credit chip, "thanks for the catch up, I hope we can run into each other more often".

The guy (code named Bruce) nodded and smiled.

She didn't actually mean it. And she wasn't actually pleased he had left an extranet number in her pocket (she was definitely worried that he had succeeded in getting it there without her noticing).

The number, of course, was for one Bruce Banner, the guy's face, but younger, Alliance officer. Either his story checked out and he was a lot less complicated than he seemed, or it was an established identity.

Though, considering the name, probably a fake identity to give girls. Asshole. 

Her name was Natasha Romanoff, she had chosen that name, given it to herself, a plea for the strength of the Black Widow. 

Who'd want to be the Hulk though? A scientist, maybe, not a sniper.

And that meant he probably knew where her name came from. She felt unmasked, in a way. He knew one more fact about her than she did about him. And she couldn't put it into question. He had been sent to kill her, he probably already knew it was her actual name.

Natasha did not like feeling this off balance.

***

The council took interest in her after the Blue Suns job, or well, Councilor Anderson did, the rest didn't give a fuck and she was quite fine with avoiding councilors, even Anderson.

"You are the only human working in C-sec at the moment, right?" he asked.

She shook her head, "There are plenty in C-sec, I'm the only one in intelligence though".

He looked suitably impressed.

"Ever thought of doing anything else?" 

What was he trying to say? Was he offering her a job or threatening to take away her current one?

"I enjoy my work," she responded truthfully, waiting for him to actually give substance back. She believed in equal relationships, especially with councilors deeply biased towards the Alliance. The Alliance wasn't Cerberus, that was the only compliment she could give it. 

"Would you enjoy it more if you were a spectre?" he understood, cut straight to the chase when he realized she wouldn't take bullshit. She found she could respect him.

"I already have all the powers of a spectre except name," Natasha shrugged, "easier to go unnoticed".

Unlike Shepard crashing her way through everything and blowing up planets, Natasha preferred to be a little more subtle. Anonymity helped. Spectres didn't get that luxury.

She also appreciated answering to someone. Not because she'd obey Pallin if she disagreed with him, but because the regulations and missions gave her work structure. "Go out and kill things" wasn't an order that made sense to her. 

Anderson nodded. He understood.

"Think I could send you on my own mission then?"

"Talk to the executor," she told him, "I'm not your personal spy simply because we're the same species".

His eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded and let her go without question.

Humans were so full of themselves it was ridiculous.

***

Her next mission was on Omega. She was Katya. Katya had brown hair and was a mechanic, so she was always covered in oil. Her objective was to track down an ardat yakshi before she had reason to visit the Citadel (Omega was a little too close to Citadel space for comfort).

She and Aria had a tense relationship - not necessarily hostile, but definitely not friendly. Natasha knew better than to do anything without telling Aria. She wouldn't get hurt, but Pallin would complain and she didn't want to hear it.

"What are you after this time?" aria looked at her blandly, "who are you even?"

"I hear there's an ardat yakshi causing some trouble?" 

"Go back home," Aria turned her back, "we found her body yesterday".

Well, shit.

Who was good enough to do her job?

Or was Aria lying?

She turned, distracted by a noise at the bar. 

An asari was holding a human against the wall with her biotics. A Cerberus human. Natasha was about to turn back to Aria to fact check because she really didn't care when a very recognizable guy showed up next to the asari.

Bruce...or whatever the hell his name was. The one that hadn't killed her. What was he doing on Omega? Why did he keep showing up in the middle of her work?

"I told you something like this would happen, Walters," he crosses his arms, "give me one reason why I shouldn't just leave you here".

The human squawked. And Natasha bit back a laugh.

"That one's interesting," Aria murmured in her ear, "definitely one of Shepard's, but doesn't seem to exist, anywhere, I don't think the Shadow Broker has anything on him."

Well, that made a lot of them confused by the guy.

The asari was explaining something to him and his eyes narrowed, similar to the way they had the moment she had mentioned child trafficking to him. 

He said something and the asari let the Cerberus human go and passed a data pad to the guy before disappearing into the crowd.

Walters stood up, "Not cool Barton," he shouted, "you're one of us. God, I've had it with these aliens".

Barton. 

Another name that was probably fake.

It did mean Shepard was probably around, which would explain the ardat yakshi. Shepard and her banging and crashing would do something like that.

Natasha let curiosity get the better of her and followed "Barton" as he manhandled Walters to the docks.

Except he went past the docks to the apartments. Interesting.

"What are you doing man?" Walters whined. Ok, so Barton was doing something out of whatever procedure he was following. 

Barton shoved him into an empty apartment.

"I'll tell the commander to come fetch you in an hour," he said, "or Lawson, they're the ones with the power to fire you".

He closed the door and locked it.

"Commander will let you do something outside of protocol that will inconvenience her?" Natasha gave herself away (purposefully).

He whirled around. Good. He'd been surprised. At least she still had that ability.

"She's going to want to see this one," Barton leaned against the door, "slipping biotic dampers into asari drinks".

Ew.

It was almost as bad as...

She wasn't going to think about that. No one had the right to muck with her brain or powers. This guy was right.

"What's your cover this time?" he raised his eyebrows.

Uh. Nobody.

"Katya Weiss, mechanic," she held out her grease covered hand to shake, "I see you're another super hero".

"You're one to talk," he muttered, making a show of wiping the grease from her hand off on his pants.

Natasha wasn't going to respond to that. 

Barton didn't seem to want to talk about it either, judging from his expression. 

"Hey, that number looks fishy, but it does get me," he smiled up at her suddenly, "old persona I keep around."

"And check regularly enough that you knew I checked it out?" Natasha cursed inwardly. She'd been sure to check at a time when it probably wouldn't have shown up as a blip. But she had assumed it wouldn't be checked often, that it was just a cover. She had been sloppy. 

Barton didn't respond. 

Secrets. Ok. 

It occurred to Natasha that the only things she knew about him was that he didn't have an immediate wish for her to die.

Which was honestly not that comforting.

Why had she followed him?

"I should, um, get going," he motioned at the data pad.

Natasha nodded, too terrified if her past questionable choices concerning him to respond properly.

"Message me though," he grinned over his shoulder, "I could think of great things to do when I'm not on duty".

Well, that explained his interest in her. 

And helped her make her mind up - Natasha Romanoff was definitely not going to message some guy who had just offered her sex and who might (possibly) be named Clint Barton.

Just a little too creepy, honestly.

***

It had been a month since she had killed the woman at the commune. 

Natasha went to find the instructions she'd hidden in her sock drawer (no one ever looked in the sock drawer, which was ridiculous, had no one read twentieth century teenage literature?)

She didn't really want to go back to Cipritine again, the levo food there was horrible and this time she'd be pissing off a whole bunch of Cerberus grunts. But hell, she'd killed an innocent woman fighting for survival. This was the least she could do. 

When had she started being moral? Must be Pallin's fault or something…


	8. Commander's Quarters

"Commander, Councilor Anderson is on your private com," EDI's voice interrupted Shepard's nap.

Damn him and his horrible timing.

"I'll take it up here," she mumbled at the pillow and then tried to make herself slightly presentable before receiving the call.

"Shepard," Anderson's face filled her terminal, "I hope this isn't a bad time".

She probably looked like crap. Fuck. 

"It's fine Councilor," she smiled and hoped that helped, "just catching a nap while I can".

"I understand," he looked tired too. God only knew how much the council had in for him.

"What's happening?" she had never known Anderson to use a private channel, ever.

"I'm just calling to warn you there was a break-in last night," he was holding tension, a lot.

"Break-in where?" Shepard rubbed her sleepy eyes surreptitiously.

"Cipritine," Anderson's voice was low, "you know where. All the name records are gone."

Fuck.

Suddenly sleep was the last thing on Shepard's mind. She needed those records destroyed. 

If anyone got their hands on them. She (and Anderson) would be out of the Alliance. They could be sentenced to death. Reapers wouldn't matter, because her fellow humans would be the biggest danger in her life.

"You need me to stop it, sir?" she was blunt.

"If you can," Anderson's face was grim, "I'm working on it, but there's a loose end I can't quite pin down. If you can't, just keep your head down and don't stir up trouble for the time being".

"Thanks for the warning, sir."

He paused, "You know anything about an Agent Romanoff?"

"Yeah," Shepard thought, "we gave her a ride a little while back, friend with someone on my team".

"Interesting," his forehead wrinkled, "she's part of C-sec intelligence. I can't tell for sure, but I think she's wrapped up in all of this. No idea how though. Might be a good lead."

"I'll keep it in mind," she promised. She didn't really know Romanoff, it would be worth considering. 

Anderson nodded at her and cut off. 

Damn. 

How the hell was she going to stop this?

Who could she even trust? Garrus. Barton. No one else.

This was ridiculous, she needed to be fighting reapers, not hiding and running from her job. Fuck them, fuck everything. She was going to go blow some collectors up, screw the assholes that hated her.

Except not, she couldn't do this if anyone knew she was boxed. She wasn't even the galaxy's only chance. There were plenty of suitable N7s with stronger loyalties and better skills and a much lower death count on her hands.

There was a knock on her door.

"Who is it?" she ran a finger through her hair, trying to see if she could become slightly more presentable.

The door opened without announcement. Garrus.

He took one look at her, "I'm guessing you heard the news".

Shepard tried to look calm and nodded.

Garrus' mandibles were tucked in tight against his face. When had he started caring so much about human affairs? About her? 

Or had she just not noticed before now?

"I'd like request a vacation to Cipritine to see my sister," he stayed in the doorway, "Lawson's already approved it."

Oh. Ok. Was he really going to do that for her?

Yes. 

It was almost terrifying how willing he was to throw himself into her problems. 

Archangel was dangerous in a way that Garrus had never been - unstable, unpredictable, a greater depth of emotion. But she had stood between him and his target and he hadn't shot her. So there was only one thing sure about Garrus - he believed in her.

She was going to get him killed.

"I think I could allow that," she checked a note, "there's a supply run on Anteven, we can drop you off".

She shouldn't let him go. But she would. Because she was selfish. 

"Also," she took a deep breath, "got a tip off that your old colleague Romanoff's probably involved".

His mandibles tightened, "She would never".

Shepard shrugged, "Just passing on secondhand information, it would be worth considering".

"I'll consider it".

Good enough. 

"You just have to do one things for me," Garrus finally approached her, "try trusting Miranda with this".

Why the hell should she trust Miranda? Because Garrus liked her?

Shepard trusted Miranda, she had proven herself more than enough. She had even gone behind the Illusive Man's back. Shepard didn't just trust Miranda, she depended on her. 

But this was personal.

"There's only so many secrets I can keep Shepard," Garrus towered over her, "trust her for me?"

What secrets?

Fine. Garrus would do anything for her. She'd do it for him.

Manipulative bastard.

***

"Barton and Vakarian have both asked for leave on Palaven," Miranda started off their briefing professionally, "I took the liberty of approving it, Patel can take security and Taylor can cover guns for the three days".

Of course Clint would be going. But, how did he get that without question from Miranda? So soon after the last time he stopped by there for something?

Try trusting Miranda with this.

"I know Vakarian's excuse," she leaned back in her chair, "what's Barton's?"

"Excuse?" Miranda raised her eyebrows, "I'm assuming this means you never actually read his file?"

Of course she read the file. And knew his doctor was on Palaven. And that he had to pick up some hearing aids at some point. But first she wanted to see how Miranda was framing it. 

"I trust you with the paperwork," Shepard shrugged, "though it's kind of fishy him going at the same time as Garrus."

"You don't want them to go, you tell me, it was just logical for Barton to visit his audiologist at the same time Vakarian visited his sister, his hearing aids should be ready by now," Miranda's voice was hard. Did she know what was going on?

Did she trust Miranda?

For Garrus.

"Seeing as he told me to trust you, I'm going to assume you know what Garrus is actually doing there," Shepard could feel her heart beating out of her chest.

"He's tracking a break-in for me that could possibly get me killed," Miranda glared at her, "what did he tell you?"

Oh. For Miranda. Not for her. 

"You're boxed too," Shepard realized in a whisper, "shit".

Miranda's face remained passive, "are you meaning to tell me that you were boxed without my knowing about it?"

"Well, yeah," Shepard could feel her hands shaking. Dammit. She could barely exist, there was no way she could save the galaxy.

Miranda started to say something and then stopped.

"You've never really met any of us, have you?" her voice had become gentle.

Shepard wasn't a child, she didn't need comforting. 

Except seeing one of them, someone like her, it was overwhelming. She wasn't alone. Anderson and Barton and Garrus could say it all they wanted, but seeing the living, breathing proof that she wasn't the only trans woman in the galaxy, it was different.

Shepard nodded mutely. 

Miranda rummaged in her desk for a moment.

"Here," she passed Shepard a data pad, "this is how you contact the commune, become part of the network, I'm sorry you didn't have us before".

Shepard stared blankly at the information - codes and addresses and names, all secret, all compromised unless Garrus succeeded. Garrus and Clint.

"I wish I could go myself," Shepard looked at it.

"The galaxy needs you here," Miranda leaned against her desk.

"Damn the galaxy," what had it ever done for her?

"You sound like Clint," Miranda smiled sadly, "but if you give up, let the collectors and the reapers win, there's no chance that it could get better. As long as we're still alive, there's a possibility for change, we have to hope".

"When did you get philosophical," Shepard hated the fact that she was right. She didn't owe the galaxy anything, and yet, there'd be no point without it. Fuck everything.

"My father taught me philosophy too," Miranda smirked, "I like to use his tools against him".

Of course. Miranda's father hadn't been trying for a perfect daughter, he'd been trying for a perfect son.

Shepard felt sick.

"I think we should have shore leave on Cipritine," Miranda mused, "after Anteven, it's a nice city, we could have a girls' night out".

"What do you do on a girls' night out?" Shepard had avoided them back in the Alliance. They seemed to involve drinking and socializing, things she didn't really do back then.

After Akuze, when she had wanted to do it, there had been no one to do it with, too many burnt bridges, 

"Look glamorous and shoot things," Miranda informed her, "it's quite relaxing".

Well, Shepard could shoot things. That would have to do.

"Yeah," she could feel her world slowly shifting back to normal, "that sounds nice".


	9. Cerberus Palaven Base

Halfway through the Cerberus grunts, Natasha gave up on her plan to fight her way out. She was good, but not that good.

And she wasn't even doing this for C-sec, so she'd rather not die for absolutely no money.

Actually, this was ten times more important than any money. Someone had died ensuring she would do this. She had had to kill someone fighting for survival, the least she could do was honor her dying wish.

And to do it subtly.

She turned to smile sweetly at the goon bearing down on a her, "You pass the test, I think this would be a good place of employment".

***

She hesitated before sending the message. 

Why was she doing this?

Because she needed a chance to get the information out. And she couldn't get extraction from C-sec until after it was gone. 

She could get Jack, but Jack would want an explanation. 

All she needed was someone who would get the list off her hands while she stayed in Cerberus' good graces. Didn't even have to be a trustworthy person, just someone she could track down again. The Hulk would do. 

And why have the number for someone's convenient bland, Alliance persona if she didn't get to exploit it? And the likelihood of him coming without question was slightly higher than anyone else she knew in C-sec (they were all on the Citadel, at least Barton was on a ship, being near Palaven was a possibility). 

Fine. She'd do it. She hit send. Hey honey, got a new job in Cipritine. Don't know where you are right now, but if you're coming through the Apien Crest anytime soon, it would be great to see you. -N

There. He'd better understand the cover or she'd be pissed. 

It took less than an hour for a response. As a matter of fact I am in Cipritine and would love to see you. 1800. Alliance bar.

It sounded fishy. The response was too quick, the style too blunt to be an act. Something was up. He was Cerberus, wasn't he? Was he just there to lay another trap for her?

Too late.

She'd have to risk it, believe in the powers of Commander Shepard. 

She only had two hours to get ready.

***

Bruce. Banner. Barton. Superhero guy was already at the bar when she got there. She had had to make a bit of a show of dressing up for the Cerberus guards who were still pretty wary of her presence there (they did seem convinced that she hadn't actually stolen anything, which was all the better for everyone involved), which was a bit awkward. He was definitely dressed for a fight.

She slipped a data pad under his nose as he sat down - I'm bugged.

She was really putting a lot of trust in a stranger.

"It's great to see you," she crooned for her audience, "what a coincidence that you happen to be here now".

He glared at her and wrote something on the data pad. Who?

Damn. She'd chosen him because he wouldn't ask questions. But he was definitely cautious now, angry, he wanted something out of her. Was it because she hadn't wanted to sleep with him? Because then he could go stuff it. 

She'd, once again, made a bad call concerning this guy. She should have followed her original plan and never ever talk to him again. 

She shook her head at him and his eyes narrowed. Cerberus was going to get suspicious if he didn’t talk soon. 

"Do you want a drink?" she nudged, "they have great brandy here, I've heard."

"Spare the small talk," he crossed at his arms, "you have some explaining to do".

Was this the game? Or was this real? She barely knew him, what did she have to explain to him?

"I was hoping to soften you up first," she teased and then gave him a pissed off look. 

"Not working," he grabbed the data pad and wrote something.

Carol Mirene. Only reason I'm not giving you away. I want to kill you myself.

Natasha had to close her eyes for a moment and calm her breathing. She couldn't look at the words directly, see the hidden meanings in them, she knew he had just given her a lot more information than he needed to, but she couldn't think about it. She had to erase the image of brains splattered against a terminal, a woman begging her to kill her because that was the only way her community, her family could survive their evil overlords. She felt sick.

"Are you all right?" his voice was slightly kinder now, probably a fake out to get her to talk, but still, it brought her back.

"Oh yes, of course," she flustered, "it's just been a long day, new job and all, you know how stressful that can be, I wouldn't mind saving this conversation for later".

"Fine," he muttered and tapped something into his omnitool, "How about we kick the bar and find somewhere private?"

Sounded like he was leading her into a trap.

"I haven't finished my drink yet," she hedged.

I think we both want that bug out. He wrote on the data pad. And then took it back, you are the source of all my bad decisions. 

That made two of them. 

"You're right," she sighed, "Let's get out of here". 

She stood to follow him out when something clipped her shoulder and her head started to spin. She fell.

***

There were voices.

And a thunk.

"That wasn't fair," turian voice. Familiar. Annoyed.

"If anything, the odds were in your favor," that was Barton's voice, damn him, "puny human arms and all".

"You nudged me," the turian voice continued. Oh. That was Vakarian. Was she back on the Normandy? No. She didn't hear any ship noises. Even the Normandy made some noise.

"Not bad, but how about…" Barton's voice trailed off and there was another thunk. 

Vakarian apparently didn't feel the need to respond verbally to that. Another thunk. 

"She should be awake by now, Clint," Vakarian sounded concerned, "you sure about this?"

That was the information she had been waiting for. Clint Barton. Hah.

"She's been awake for a little while," another thunk, "I'm not too worried about time".

"And the element of surprise?" the next thunk was frighteningly close to Natasha's ear. What were they doing? Some new kind of Cerberus torture?

"If I read the situation right," thunk, "this isn't what it looks like. I like to give my hostages a chance to talk before I kill them, I'd appreciate it if she'd let that happen".

He hadn't been bluffing to Vakarian. Shit. He definitely knew she was awake. How did he keep getting the jump on her? Once was more than enough. 

Well, she'd get this over it. Natasha knew she could take on both of them. But she wouldn't come out unscathed. 

And this had to do with something else, right?

Carol Mirene. 

Natasha pushed away the image and tried to do a run through of what was actually going on. 

Barton (Clint, but she'd save that for later) knew she was the one who had killed Mirene.

Barton knew Mirene, took this personally.

So he was trans. 

Which definitely meant he was Cerberus. 

And he was on the Normandy. As was Vakarian. She had seen Shepard's name on the list (she hadn't particularly been interested, there were just a few names that jumped out at her when she had glanced at it earlier).

They were on a very personal mission of revenge and self-preservation (or preservation for people they love, even the worst news agent knew there was something up with Shepard and Vakarian). 

Dimwits never even thought that she might have been working to help them. 

She could wake up now.

"You are actually Clint Barton," she muttered triumphantly and opened her eyes. He was standing a few paces back from her with a dart in his hand, sufficiently embarrassed, "does that mean I'm going to have to save you from alien brainwashing?"

Vakarian made a very confused and disturbed noise. Good. Keep them on edge until she could get them to listen.

"I chose my name," Barton spun the dart in his hands and then let it fall to pick up the data pad that held the list, "but you would know that wouldn't you? Considering you were carrying this."

Natasha had chosen her name too. Back, in the beginning, when she had been running, she had had nothing but the name and a few dog eared comic books she'd fished from the trash in London. Even when she was safe in the Tokyo autist colony, her name had been the only thing that was completely hers. She had no identity, no personality, no purpose, all she had was Natasha Romanoff and the promise that she would survive and become more than Subject Alpha. 

She didn't like having her name taken away from her.

"No actually, I barely glanced at it," she needed him to listen, "as I'm assuming neither did you".

"I know who's on it already," Barton's gaze was steady, "which is why it needs to stay out of your hands".

"Just, look at the list," she sighed. If she could just get him to...yes.

He glanced at it and started reading and his face made a very good "oh fuck" expression, "Shit".

He passed it to Vakarian who looked at it in confusion, "It's a box register, we knew that".

"Not the official one," Barton shook his head, "according to this, at least twice as many people are boxed than on the other list".

And then he caught on, "These are people who didn't go through Cerberus".

"If Cerberus got their hand on that list, they'd have a perfect weapon against the Alliance," Natasha responded calmly, "I'm doing you a favor."

His face darkened. 

"And what about Carol?" Barton turned on her and raised her hand to slap her. Her hands were still tied to the chair. Damn. She could kick him if she had to. But words. Words were her power.

Here, it would have to be the truth.

"She asked me to kill her."

His hand stopped a centimeter away from her face, "What?"

"I had to stop a leak," Natasha didn't know if she was trying to convince him or herself, "the only way she could cover up that list was giving Cerberus way too much information. If she had continued, it was a matter of weeks before they'd be able to take Citadel space. I had to do it."

Had she?

"The only way to stop the leak without Cerberus coming down on the commune, on you," she saw him flinch slightly, yes, she was right, trans, "was for her to be taken out. I...gave her the choice."

Should she have?

"She chose to die to save the commune," Natasha faltered for a moment, there had been so much blood, so much wrong with that moment, "I couldn't deny her that."

Barton had gone still, staring at her, silently. If he hit her now, she probably wouldn't fight back. She deserved it. She should have just left the leak. The fucking council could have survived. Maybe. It didn't matter. 

One person mattered. One death.

"Fuck," he whispered. Vakarian moved towards him, but he pushed the turian away and walked out the door. 

Vakarian turned backed to her, "What about the list?"

"She asked me to make sure it got to a safe place," Natasha pulled her eyes away from the door, "I don't know why she didn't trust anyone else in the commune".

He nodded, "Did she specify where?"

"Councilor Anderson," she felt wrong, giving away that information, but he was...safe? She didn't know.

"I'll make sure it gets to him," Vakarian promised, "I should probably untie you".

"Barton?" Natasha knew she shouldn't worry about the guy who had tranquilized her and tied her up and really, she didn't give a shit about. 

But if anyone from the colony...

She understood a little too well.

"He has friends here," Vakarian shrugged, "at least ones that know him better than I do".

If she had read him correctly, that might not help. Turians never quite understood the dramatic nature of humans.


	10. Cipritine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The turian underground was originally the counter movement made up of turians that chose not to complete their military duty. Since then, it's become its own institution within turian culture, generally advocating for those at the bottom of the Hierarchy and people within turian jurisdiction that aren't represented by the hierarchy (ie. The trans humans living in Cipritine). Because of this, the underground isn't limited to turians and a number of humans and salarians and other races join it. 
> 
> A lovely (ooc) quote from Garrus I wasn't able to fit into the fic but explains it better than that paragraph: "The underground is the antithesis to the Hierarchy as a way to enact change."
> 
> (basically, I think the underground is fascinating and since it doesn't show up too often, I will tell you all the things that aren't necessary but I like anyways...)

Carol had died months ago. 

She had died to keep him safe. To keep them all safe. 

She had died to keep them all safe from Cerberus. From him.

The world was a fucking mess and he hated it.

Sol was sitting at the table munching rekus (turian version of a sandwich, kind of…dextro food), "Get the list?"

"Yeah," Clint really didn't know how to explain what had happened.

What if Romanoff was lying? Half her job was pretending to be other people, she could easily have duped them into believing this dramatic sob tale so they'd trust her with the list and then…no, they weren't trusting her with the list. She got nothing out of lying except not getting killed. 

And he'd already set a bit of a precedent in that department. Damn. 

"You don't seem happy about it," Sol kept munching.

"It wasn't…what I expected," Clint tried to sort it out, "we, uh, may have also destroyed your wall".

"What the hell were you doing with a tranquilized hostage?" 

"Playing darts," Clint shrugged, Garrus had promised Sol wouldn't be too angry. He better be right.

Sol muttered something that was too quiet for him to pick up (and lip reading a turian was impossible). He was 99% certain it had something to do with snipers causing a nuisance though. 

He rediscovered how to breath.

"You're a wreck, Clint, you know that right?" she put away her dirty dish. 

He didn't really need to respond to that. Everyone knew he was a wreck. But he was a wreck that got the job done, so at least there was that.

And he didn't mess things up for other people. Normally. 

"Here," Sol passed him a levo beer, "I keep it around for when people like you decide to take advantage of my wealth."

He took it gratefully. Alcohol was good. Alcohol was something to do with hands and a way to relax and…avoid. He never drank more than a bottle. He wasn't the drink to forget type person. He had a feeling getting drunk would cause more remembering than anything else. 

"Did you really join the Underground?" he steered the conversation away from him.

"Did you think I was lying?" she give him her most displeased expression, "their ships are much more fun than the military".

"Might also get you killed," he pointed out.

"So would extended military service," she laughed, "someone needs to keep the Hierarchy in line, especially with the new push to make turian space only for dextros". 

"They can't actually do that?" Clint tried to figure, "the Council wouldn't allow it".

"That's what we're here for," Sol shrugged, "we bribe and blackmail enough so it doesn't pass, and if it does, we'll be the ones evacuating your asses out".

Great. Another thing to worry about. 

The door opened. Natasha.

"Still alive?" Sol glanced between her and Clint. 

"Told you it wasn't what I expected," he muttered at his beer. 

Garrus appeared looming over her, "Sol, Natasha, Natasha, Sol, please don't kill each other".

"What makes you think I'll kill anyone?" Natasha moved out of the doorway so Garrus could walk through.

Did she seriously need to ask that? Fuck her. 

No matter what she said, she'd still killed Carol. 

"You haven't met Sol," Garrus pointed out mildly and then turned to Clint, "since we messed with her cover, it would help if we could get her a ride to the Citadel, if you're ok with that?"

Clint shrugged, "Sure, why not?" He could spend the trip on the observation deck with Samara feeling his brain slowly slotting into place (it unslotted as soon as he stopped, but that wasn't the point), he wouldn't actually have to deal with her presence on board. Shepard and Miranda could handle that.

"Thanks," Natasha nodded at him. She almost seemed…sincere?

"I guess I owe you an apology," he admitted. He'd assumed she was a transphobic murderer out to destroy his life. Turned out she was just a murderer.

Well, all cis people were transphobic. But the whole science of oppressive systems and whatnot that Zen liked to go on about was pointless when you had to separate between "people who will kill you on sight" and "people who do the whole microagression crap but at least they're not dead set on killing you". 

"I would have done a lot worse in your place," she leant comfortably against the wall. 

Clint didn't doubt it. She had come out of the same place as Jack. Just because she seemed less angry didn't mean she wasn't. He'd learned early on not to underestimate people who made quiet threats in the form of accepting an apology.

She had killed Carol. Carol had asked her to kill her rather than trust him. Or any of them.

Carol had trusted her with the list.

Fuck it. Thinking about this hurt his head. Clint avoided the scrutiny of everyone in the room and turned back to his beer. It wasn't coffee but it would do until he could go somewhere that had a coffee machine. 

***

Miranda let him back out of the debrief and that scared Clint. A lot. 

For Miranda (and basically all the high up powerful people in Cerberus), debriefs were a sacred ritual, even for completely unofficial off-book missions that could never actually get written down for fear of destroying everyone they loved. 

Clint watched the door shut around the others - Miranda, Shepard, Garrus, Romanoff, and figured he might as well profit from his freedom. He went to the observation deck. 

Samara didn't move when he entered, but he knew she felt it. He went and sat down next to her but he couldn't push himself to actually cross his legs and close his eyes and do the meditation stuff. He knew he'd probably be better off doing it. But there was just so much effort involved getting there. It was easier to look at the stars. 

The galaxy didn't give a shit that he was a wreck.

"You're struggling today," Samara's energy ball disappeared, "did the appointment not go as planned?"

Oh yeah. The cover up. He'd stopped by Sidnus' place to pick up the new hearing aids (they had an off switch and more refined dimming capabilities, it was glorious), just in case anyone at Cerberus wanted to check up on him. He liked Sidnus, even if he had no clue how human ears works. It was probably the only thing that had gone right the entire trip.

"Just a lot on my mind," he tried to pass it off as nothing.

"Of course," she turned back inwards.

"Samara," he was suddenly seized with a need to Know. To Understand.

"Yes," she kept her eyes trained towards the stars.

"How did you trust…Shepard," he formulated the question awkwardly, "you know, when you pledged yourself, or whatever that was?"

He hadn't been there, but the whole binding thing with a code sounded kind of…limiting.

"That wasn't trust," Samara said, "That was a death threat."

Oh.

"How, um, do you trust people then?" the fact that Carol didn't trust any of them ate at him. Not trusting him and Miranda, Cerberus operatives, it hurt, but it made sense. But the people in the commune - Ni, Zen, Mara, Angel…why hadn't she trusted them with the list? Why had an outsider been better than trusting one of them?

"With death threats," Samara smiled, "I'm a justicar, trust doesn't come for free".

No. It didn't. 

He wanted to ask about Morinth. How Samara could have devoted her entire life to killing someone she loved. Why should would do that. How she could be peacefully meditating and discussing death threats knowing she had killed her daughter (the entire concept of blood family was already so foreign). 

They probably weren't close enough for that kind of conversation. 

Clint closed his eyes and imagined the stars behind his eyelids, tucking his legs under him. Time to organize all that mess out of his mind. 

***

Mornings were hard. Well, morning on a space ship was always a subjective concept, but Clint liked to refer to the first few hours after he woke up as "morning", whatever time system they were working on. 

Miranda and Garrus were doing their weird drink and gossip session, though, so he figured his morning was probably afternoon for everyone else. He was too tired to process that information, though.

Door. Mess. Coffee machine. Cupboard. Grinds. Machine. Button. 

Miranda and Garrus were gone by the time he turned around. Strange how he hadn't heard them leave. 

Oh yeah. Hearing aids. On switch. Noise. Ouch. Dimmer.

He'd turn it up later when he actually had to be able to hear. Now, it was just a bunch of background noise that didn't really matter. 

The coffee was ready. He grabbed a mug and started pouring. His mind slipped back towards sleep…

Something hot hit his hand and he jerked awake.

Coffee was overflowing out of the mug onto the counter and the floor and him and…everything.

"Aww…coffee…" he tried to figure out if he could hide the mess or if he'd actually have to clean it up.

"You did not just say that," Natasha's voice came from very far behind him. He turned. She was sitting crosslegged on the table nearest him.

Funny. She didn't sound that close. Oh yeah. He turned up his hearing aids. 

She looked like she was expecting a response. What had she said? He couldn't remember.

"It's early," he mumbled as an excuse and picked up the coffee, ignoring the coffee stains everywhere. He'd deal with that…later. Right now, he needed caffeine. He didn't even want to talk with her. 

"It's three in the afternoon," Natasha pointed out.

"I just woke up," the coffee helped. Somewhat. He was also somewhat immune because he drank so much of it. Why was his morning so late, anyways? Oh yeah, "I'm Joker's substitute this week".

There were a few people that weren't Joker that could fly space ships like the Normandy on the crew. Every week, another name was chosen out of a hat to substitute for him so he could sleep. Clint had been the unlucky winner. Or maybe it was his payment for skipping the Cipritine briefing. Only six more days and at least two of them would be spent at dock. He could do this.

Why had he spilled the coffee all over the counter? He needed to drink it.

"A little trouble with executive function?" Natasha raised her eyebrow. 

Execu-what?

He stared at her. 

He was standing in a puddle of coffee, exhausted, barely with a brain, staring at some stranger. And the only thing he could bother to notice was the black ring on her right middle finger. Kind of like the one he'd tried to give Miranda. 

What the fuck was his life?

He was a wreck. And she was here to watch it. He didn't like strangers watching his failures. Particularly ones as confusing as Natasha Romanoff.

(Black Widow. But not The Black Widow, and yet...she had chosen that name, why? She had killed Carol. Shouldn't that tell him all he needed to know about her?)

(Except Samara had killed Morinth. It was complicated. Fuck. Too early.)

"How can I help?"

It took him a moment to parse out the words. Why was she offering to help him? She should be laughing at him by now. Assassins didn't make a mess of the kitchen, they were too good for that.

"What do you need?" she pushed.

"Why are you still here?" he needed answers. He needed her gone so he could break down in peace.

"Why didn't you kill me?" she challenged.

Which time was she even talking about? This he could do. They were on even ground this way. Unanswered questions.

He could leave her guessing.

He shrugged and turned back to the coffee machine, "I need coffee".

He didn't realize she was behind him until her arm reached over to right the coffee pot. Oh yeah, tilted coffee pot meant coffee all over the counter and a burnt machine.

"You're going to be all right, Clint," she pushed him gently out of the way and continues the process of coffee making.

The kindness in her voice grated on him. Why the hell would she care?

"Is that what you know?" he spat out. "All right" was something he never experienced.

"Have you ever had someone take out your brain and shove something else in?" her voice was so conversational, "do you know what it's like to be undone?"

You know that I have.

Was she doing this on purpose? A practical joke to make fun of his name? His choices? 

"Only thing I've managed to avoid," he hoped the truthful response would cut off the reference.

She gave him a look. 

Oh shit. She was talking about herself. Teltin. Jack. He couldn't even begin to imagine.

"Sorry," he mumbled at his coffee.

She rolled her eyes, "You're going to be ok".

No, he wasn't, but he appreciated the vote of confidence.

Her fingers reached out and pressed the power button of the coffee machine and he focused in on the black band around her finger. 

"What's that?" he motioned towards the ring. He knew what it was, but he needed the reminder. 

She smiled and spun it. The top part separated from the band and whirled around her finger.

"A reminder that I'm ok".

He could use one of those.


	11. Human Councillor's Office

> Miranda, I know this is probably not your top priority, but I was wondering if you'd like to go out. Like, a date. Taylor says you're sick and undateable and I want to prove him wrong. Also, you're kind of pretty, in a human sort of way. - Garrus
> 
> PS I'd really rather not have sex, my levo allergies are worse than most turians.

***

Miranda presented the box register to Anderson herself, "Carol wanted you to have this, we got it through a bit of miscommunication". 

He nodded sharply, "Thank you".

She felt a strange friendship with him. He had been doing the same thing she had - finding the street kids, the forgotten ones, keeping them safe, making it possible for them to transition early, so they wouldn't ever know the dysphoria she had fought through.

They had been allies for a long time without knowing it. 

"What are you going to do with it?" She knew it was dangerous to ask. She didn't care. 

"I don't know," he admitted, "this list could ruin me".

"It could ruin me too," she hated politicians, "it's about a lot more than just your political career".

"That's the problem," he sighed.

"May I make a suggestion?" Miranda knew what she wanted. She might be a terrorist, at least she visited the commune, which was more than this man could claim. At least she knew her community. That should count for something, right?

"Carol didn't trust you," he eyed her carefully.

"I don't trust me," Miranda countered, "but there is someone else we both trust".

She wasn't going to say the name. The office was probably bugged. Probably innocuous C-sec bugging and Cerberus stuff she could get rid of herself but still. She shouldn't even be there. She was too close to the Illusive Man. 

"I'll consider it," Anderson promised her, "thank you again".

That would have to do.

***

"Where are we going to next?" Garrus settled across from her comfortably. And Miranda tried to not think about the message still sitting on her desk.

"Supply run," Miranda poured out her tea.

That meant "Shepard wants to do something, but hell if I knew what or where it is".

Garrus' mandibles wiggled in amusement.

"Well, we're still here for a day, are you still up for that date?"

"You mean the prove-Jacob-wrong thing?" Miranda teased. 

Garrus had asked her on a date. She was trying not to think about why she wanted to do it. It was just a thumb up at Jacob for saying no one would want to date her without sex. That was all.

What if Garrus was bluffing about the sex? 

Who was she kidding? They were allergic to each other. It would just be a nice night out with a friend.

"Does it really make you that nervous?" Garrus was quiet and perceptive, as always, damn him.

"I have a reputation to uphold," she snapped and then put down her teacup and breathed. Why did she always snap like that? Always at Garrus? Why did he keep talking to her? She was a good executive officer, she was a good operative. She was not a good friend.

"You can end the night leaving me in a puddle of blood if that helps with your reputation," Garrus suggested and then considered, "I'd prefer fake blood".

"I'm a Cerberus operative, not a serial killer," Miranda relaxed, slightly. 

"Spy," Garrus insisted.

"I told the Illusive Man exactly how many times you coughed yesterday," she raised her eyebrows.

"I don't cough, I'm a turian," his mandibles kept wiggling.

Miranda figured she'd proven her point. And Garrus had effectively distracted her again. 

He was really set on this date wasn't he. Why? The prove-Jacob-wrong excuse was cute, but it didn't hold up under scrutiny. 

He was into her. She knew that. Why was she still stringing him on then? Because she was flattered, that was all. She didn't actually like him back, she couldn't. 

But she didn't want to put an end to it either…

***

Miranda had no idea what to wear for a date. She was a Cerberus operative not a…dater. Dressing up, going to a bar with a friend (boyfriend?) were things that other people did. 

She stared helplessly at the clothes in front of her and wondered if Garrus would mind if she just showed up in her uniform. Except she didn't want him to think she didn't care. She cared. She cared enough that she was scared of the consequences of fucking this up. 

The door to her office opened. Shit shit shit. She wasn't ready. She wasn't at all ready. She didn't even know how to go on a date. She couldn't ever be ready for this.

"Are you decent?" it was Clint's voice. Miranda breathed a sigh of relief and went to open the bedroom door.

She glared at him, "What do you need?"

"Nothing," he dumped a package on her table, "just came to bring you this. For the record, it wasn't my idea".

"What even is that?" she eyed it warily. It didn't move. That was a good sign. 

"I asked a friend how dates worked in case you needed moral support," he stood there awkwardly, "she said clothing was the hardest part".

Miranda eyed the package even more warily.

"A different friend chose it," he promised her, "don't worry, I'm just the messenger".

"Good," Miranda grabbed the package of the desk, trying not to look too desperate, and shut herself back in her bedroom. 

Clint better have good friends because she was running out of options. What kind of friends did he even have? People she knew probably. People who probably knew she was going on a date. Oh well. Worry about the gossip from people she's technically supervising later. 

It…wasn't a monstrosity. Actually, it was gorgeous. She put it on and she felt gorgeous. 

Feeling gorgeous was a luxury she hadn't allowed herself since her first few months after the box. She knew she was. Her genes were engineered that way, the whispers that followed her confirmed it, but that didn't mean she had time to put on pretty clothing and stare at herself in a mirror. 

Until now. 

She'd thank Clint's friends later. Or maybe he'd just made them up. She'd thank him then. Except not, because that would give him dangerous ideas.

He whistled from where he was sprawled across her desk when she walked out, "You look nice".

She glared at him, "No".

"Trust me, I'm not interested," he stared awkwardly at his hands. Since when had he worn a ring? Miranda shook herself. Clint's jewellery was not her problem.

A date with Garrus was her problem. Maybe she could just…not go.

"Garrus will be sad," Clint read her mind, "you have to go".

Damn. Yeah. She did.

"He's going to be sad even if I do go".

Clint rolled his eyes and stood up, "Garrus is not Jacob. He's nice, funny, good with a gun, and allergic to you. Everything you want in a guy. Now get the fuck out of here before he thinks you stood him up".

He shoved her out the door. 

Miranda hoped all her data pads would be in place when she got back. If she was lucky. She really needed to start locking her office.

***

They ended up at a bar because it was the only place where they could both get food. 

"I read humans like to share food on dates," Garrus looked uncomfortable, "sorry we can't do that".

"It's ok," Miranda tried to stay calm (he was just as afraid of this as she was, why were they doing this again?), "I've only been on one date and that was a disaster".

"I, um, hope this is a little better," he looked at her hopefully. 

"Definitely," she promised him. He hadn't called her a sick, disturbed monster, definitely better. 

His mandibles flared out in pleasure and she could feel a smile on her lips. She liked spending time with Garrus, even if it was stuffy and datey. He was still Garrus. 

She got an idea.

"How about we skip the date and do something fun?" she offered.

"What are you thinking?" he looked wary and slightly relieved that she had taken charge. They'd been kind of limping along with small amounts of alcohol up until then. 

Miranda had gotten herself a membership at an arena in the wards a few years ago. A small one, not one that people would be able to track her with. Mainly varren hunting, sometimes they got an interesting program, like a krogan, but it was the wards, she had low expectations, it was a nice thing to do when she didn't feel like being a Cerberus operative for a couple of hours.

Garrus was impressed though.

"You know, I've never actually visited one of these," he told her.

"You worked in C-sec," she smirked at him, "you have no excuse".

"I was too busy bringing criminals to justice," he informed her, "shows how low I've come that I'm shooting varren with a terrorist spy".

"And I'm on a date with a vigilante turian," Miranda retorted, "I used to be a top operative, you know".

"Executive officer's not that bad," Garrus shot the last varren, "you're still higher up in the chain of command".

Fair enough.

Her dress was muddy and ripped by the time they got back to the Normandy, but she had had fun.

The awkwardness returned when they got to the mess, the place where they either parted...or did more.

Miranda didn't really want to do more. She was tired, and more was generally what she was avoiding.

"I couldn't really kiss you anyways," Garrus was frighteningly close, fuck, "but do you mind if I gave you a hug?"

Oh. Miranda relaxed. A hug. That was nice. That was ok. She nodded and he wrapped his arms around her. 

"You're kind of like a giant teddy bear," she informed his armor, "except metallic".

She could feel the vibrations of his laughter in her entire body.


	12. Out of the dead reaper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is about the point where the plot starts actually fitting into canon chronology instead of ignoring it, yay!
> 
> Warnings for alcohol and unhealthy relationships and PTSD due to the fact that Shepard died.

Climbing around a dead reaper was not one of Shepard's favorite activities and she was glad when it was over. 

Of course there was now a geth on her ship wearing her armor, which was, honestly, really creepy. 

Drink first. Then sleep. Then worry about robots killing them all in their sleep. She knew it probably wasn't the best plan, but it was the best she had. She turned off Tali's indignant message about geth and fell back onto her bed, staring at the fish tank. She'd forgotten to feed her fish again and now they were all floating around dead. She'd have to clean it eventually. 

Shepard needed sleep. Lots of sleep. She knew that. Her body knew that. So why couldn't she sleep?

Because she would inevitably wake up gasping for breath in the empty vacuum of space.

Whoever had said space was beautiful hadn't died falling out of a space ship.

Damn.

Shepard finished her beer and went to talk strategy with Miranda. It was only a matter of time before EDI installed the IFF and they went flying through the omega four relay to the collectors' base. To their death.

Could she really ask that of so many people? Could she really ask them to die?

Or was it just that she wasn't willing to die again? 

Miranda just raised her eyebrows when Shepard appeared in her door and arranged some data pads in front of her.

Thank god for people who didn't ask too many questions.

They were halfway through a few tech upgrade possibilities when Miranda spoke.

"You know, Barton was spaced not too long ago," her head was down, fiddling with some information.

"Don't see how that has to do with anything," Shepard stared resolutely at the specs she was reading.

"Just thought you should know," Miranda marked something and slid the data pad across her desk, "seeing as you never actually read your crew member's files".

It hadn't been in his file. 

***

She gave the crew three days leave on the Citadel. Enough time for them to do what they had to do. 

She visited Anderson.

He silently handed her a data pad as she walked through the door.

She glanced at it, and then, wished she hadn't. The box register wasn't hers, she was barely part of the network. It wasn't her family.

"A lot of us agree that you should take care of this," he told her.

"You know the chance of this being abandoned on the collector base is pretty high," why would anyone trust her with this?

"Better that than the wrong person breaking into my office," Anderson shrugged, "I...failed. You. And everyone else".

"You did the best you could," he had saved her. That was more than a bare minimum.

"Maybe you can do better," he smiled at her, "first human spectre, N7 graduate, born twice, taking on the monsters the rest of us feel safer denying. I wouldn't want anyone else holding my secrets".

He made her sound like someone capable. It would have been nice if the titles actually meant anything. 

"You come back alive," he commanded her, "you come back and you do something with this, is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," she saluted.

***

Two things left to do. Help Kasumi get her friend's greybox and figure out what to do with these geth heretics. That was all. The IFF should be ready by then. She almost hoped it wouldn't be. 

She found Romanoff standing calmly in the middle of the Presidium while Jack sent blasts of biotics at her. She didn't move a muscle. Impressive. Terrifying. 

Shepard sent Jack a small wave of raw biotics (like she used to back in the Reds, before she learned the fancier tricks), "Need to watch your back".

Jack turned and glared at her, "That's why I fight with you. So I don't have to".

Shepard shrugged and turned to Romanoff, "I could use your help".

"Why me?" 

"Infiltration mission," Shepard shrugged, "I'm not really trained for that".

"You have a thief, an assassin, an engineer with a shot gun, and two Cerberus operatives," Romanoff listed, "you don't need me, I have work here".

Shepard was really glad Romanoff worked for the council and not Cerberus…or the reapers. How did she know so much about her squad having only been on the Normandy twice?

"Kasumi's leading the mission, I need a human, I need Lawson somewhere else, and Barton's a sniper and has absolutely no tact," Shepard ticked off the information. She knew better than to lie. She just had to hope the wrong person wasn't listening. 

"What do I get out of it?" 

"Ever heard of a man name Donovan Hock?"

A flicker passed over Romanoff's face, but she was too good for it to be intelligible. Spies, secrets, it made Shepard uncomfortable. She liked banging in and shooting things. People like Romanoff, just as hooded as Kasumi or masked as a quarian, they set her on edge.

At least she could see the hood or the mask. Romanoff's mask was invisible and downright creepy. 

"When do we leave?" Romanoff asked. 

"In two days," Shepard turned to leave, "you're meeting with Kasumi tonight, I left the info here".

She tossed the data pad over. Romanoff looked at it and nodded, "I'll be there, Commander".

Commander.

What did everyone think she was? Good at her job or something? 

***

She had two days to get herself drunk out of her mind and then sober and then they'd be off on the final run. They'd have to figure out how to get Romanoff back to the Citadel, but shuttles went there all the time. 

She'd let others go too if they wanted to. 

It was Barton that found her semi-conscious in the bar. Stupid security peace keeping whatever the hell his job was officer.

She glared at him as he dragged her up by the elbow.

"You are much heavier than you look," he grumbled.

"N7," she felt like she was bobbing for words instead of apples, "muscles".

He nodded as if he understood and then shoved her forward, "Maybe use those muscles to walk so I don't have to carry you the entire way".

She wobbled, but she didn't fall over. So she kept walking. But then there was a door, she looked at him in confusion.

He sighed and leaned over her to open it. Oh yeah. 

"I should take pictures," he remarked as he forcefully led her down a hallway that really didn't look like the way to the wards, "blackmail on the most famous human ever".

That sounded bad. 

She somehow or other ended up colliding with a bed. It might be hers. Barton had shoved her into it, though, so it could be his. Or someone else's.

She decided she didn't care and fell asleep. 

***

Her head hurt.

Actually everything hurt.

That shouldn't happen for at least another 12 hours, she should still be drinking. 

Why did everything hurt so much?

She had a dim memory of Barton leading her back towards the docks and walking into a couple of walls. That was probably part of the problem. 

She considered opening her eyes to make sure he had actually brought her back to her quarters and not dumped her in some cheap Citadel hotel and then decided against it. Eyes meant light, light meant more pain. 

She could also use some water. 

She cracked open her eyes.

"Fuck," she shut them immediately, but not before she saw Garrus standing on the opposite side of the room.

"Want to explain to me why you have a death wish?" he sounded angry.

"I like beer," Shepard mumbled into her pillow. Maybe she could just go back to sleep…

"Bullshit," his voice was physically painful. 

She stuffed her pillow over her head, "Come back and be angry when I'm not hungover".

"You'll risk going against the collectors hungover, but you won't talk," he grabbed the pillow off her head, "what the hell is your problem?"

Fine. She opened her eyes. It hurt slightly less than the first time. Garrus' face was so close to her that it was blocking out some of the light. 

"I died," she told him. 

He pulled back as he'd been slapped, mandibles tight against his face, "I know".

"It's hard to forget," she agreed. 

"Is that what this is?" he was tense, "drinking to forget? Putting yourself in danger because it's better than remembering".

"Humans dream," and, her head reminded her, pay the price when they don't. 

It took her a little while to figure out that the shaking was crying. Turian crying was a lot more shakey and a lot less wet than what she was used to. 

She'd never seen Garrus cry before. 

"Dammit Garrus," she grumbled, "I'm really bad at this".

He didn't response. Shit shit shit. Shepard kicked herself. She was about to get her entire crew killed and she couldn't even comfort her friend before she let it happened. What kind of shitty commander was she?

"Look," she tried, "I don't get why it's so important to you, but I'll…um…"

"Oh you don't get it," Garrus interrupted sarcastically, "are you sure Cerberus hasn't turned you into some kind of babbling robot? These are emotions, Shepard. People. Friends. Ever heard of them?" 

"Yeah, and then I died," she winced at the volume of her own voice, "it kind of changes your perspective on things".

"So nothing matters anymore?" 

"Look," she gestured angrily at the floating dead fish, "that's what I am. I kill and destroy and fuck other people over. It was better when I killed and destroyed myself. Now, I'm just hurting others. Everything matters. That's the problem. Everything matters too fucking much". 

And everything she said was always the absolutely wrong thing to say and god she wish her head hurt slightly less and Garrus was staring at her, mandibles tight against his face. Not. Saying. Anything. 

She could feel the tears pricking at her eyes in the silence and will them away. Commander Shepard did not cry. She was better than that. 

Commander Shepard also did not yell and kick and scream and drink too much. Commander Shepard wasn't a cyborg. Commander Shepard died two years ago saving Jeff Moreau from a collector attack. Or maybe Commander Shepard had never existed. It didn't matter. 

She had to pretend to be Commander Shepard and save the galaxy because no one else was going to bother.

"I gotta do shit," she mumbled and stood up, turning away from Garrus and his stillness. She'd…she didn't know what she could do. 

She could hope she hadn't hurt him beyond repair. Send him off with Romanoff before they hit the collectors, he'd never have to see her again. 

"Don't die, Shepard," his voice hurt more than any headache ever could, "promise me you won't die".

She shrugged, "I already did".


	13. Normandy shuttle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am in love with the Locust. Probably my favorite gun in the game…
> 
> Warning for internalized acephobia and arophobia

Natasha really liked her new gun.

Kasumi was all excited about its history, babbling about some president or another. Natasha couldn't care less. She was very pleased with the fact that it shot things. Very well.

That would have been payment enough for the whole heist, honestly, except for the fact that Hock was dead (he'd been on her radar for a few years back, had smuggled arms for some red sand dealers, ugly business), and she had gotten to play spy in a way that her work for C-sec hardly let her.

In intelligence gathering, most of her marks stayed alive. That's why she work for C-sec, she didn't want to be the killing machine they (not they, Cerberus, Teltin) had made her into, but sometimes it got a little boring. 

"Maybe I should work for C-sec," Kasumi mused as they took the shuttle back to the Normandy, "I could do whatever fun things you do in the day, and then no one would suspect me".

"I'm pretty sure there's a lot of twentieth century vids about why you shouldn't do that," Natasha informed her, "you're better off not bringing attention to yourself". She knew she had at least four unsolved cases she could probably attribute to Kasumi, but there would never be enough evidence.

It wasn't even a risk for Kasumi to be working with her. She was…a ghost. Natasha could pin her with nothing. It was frustrating.

She was fiddling with the greybox.

"You could open it now," Natasha offered, "I'll block my ears".

"Yeah, thanks," Kasumi nodded at her. 

Natasha found some music in her omnitool and blasted it into her helmet. It was all the privacy she could offer. 

She tried to keep her eyes closed, but it was difficult to fight against her instinct to learn, catalogue, gain information. 

When she did look, she almost wished she hadn't. Kasumi was so lost in this person that she loved, a harsh reminder of what Natasha would ever have.

Silly. She didn't actually want that. Relationships, people, she didn't have time for that. Particularly ones that included attraction and all that confusing allo stuff.

She hated it. And yet she was jealous of people that had it. She didn't want to hate it. She wanted to feel...normal.

Normality wasn't defined by your ability to feel attracted to people.

But what about the ability to love? Had they taken that from her? She knew she wasn't broken. And yet, they had broken her, destroyed her humanity. 

She closed her eyes and turned up her music and tried to think of a way to actually get something solid on Kasumi.

***

Barton accosted her as she was getting off the shuttle. 

He was holding out her ring. Bad timing. Things she didn't want to think about right now.

"Figured you should have this back," he shoved it under her nose, "it doesn't quite fit, like I told you". 

Even as she felt the relief of putting it back on her finger, a reminder that she would always belong in Tokyo, that she wasn't alone, she felt a deep loneliness.

She had wanted him to be like her, to understand, need the same things.

Who was she kidding? Reading the same comics and watching the same movie didn't make someone the same. She should stop bothering. They'd taken away her ability to have other people in her life.

There was just Jack. Zero. Someone as fucked up as her.

"It's just," he followed behind her like a lost puppy, "the black ring's only for the sexual attraction, right? There's never really been anything for the romantic stuff, right? It's kind of silly, I think…"

Well, good for him. He was slightly more normal than her.

She didn't respond and he fell back in disappointment. Natasha tried not to feel too guilty. It wasn't her job to bond with every single person that wasn't clearly allo. It was her job to kill people that caused problems. Or arrest them. Whichever was easiest.

She watched the elevator door close, blocking out his face and went to let Jack throw biotics at her and show off her new gun. She shoved her ring into a pocket. She didn't need a reminder of Tokyo right now. Of understanding how shit happened for other people.

But Gianna would just call this self-care. 

_What do you need?_

A promise that my past didn't break me.

Someone that looks at me the way Kasumi looked at Keiji. 

To not hate love.

Connection.

***

They had to test out some upgrade or something, so the entire crew came along in the shuttle to drop her off at the space port where she could get a tide back to the Citadel.

Ok. Not the entire crew. Barton and the other Cerberus grunts stayed on board, the actual team that was going to hit the collectors came along.

Natasha figured it was best not to ask why this was a good idea. 

They were halfway to the spaceport when they got the distress call from the Normandy. 

"Do you mind going back?" Shepard glanced at her

Natasha shrugged, she could get the late shuttle, it wasn't the worst thing ever. The Normandy was strategically a lot more important for the galaxy. 

They got back to an empty ship. 

Joker and EDI and no one.

"How did the collectors get Barton?" Miranda demanded at the (now unshackled) AI. 

Natasha watched with the others the image of five collectors bearing down on his paralyzed form. She didn't have time to feel regret about the last time they talked. What's done was done. He was one of many crew members taken by the collectors. 

She hung in the back of the briefing room, not quite sure what she could do. 

Except it was obvious. They were down a security officer and had just lost their entire crew. She was very good at killing things. Too bad the collectors weren't biotic killers or she would be the perfect candidate. Sub-par would do though, considering the circumstances. 

She'd probably lose her job by the time she got back. If she got back. But hell, the galaxy was more important, right?

When had she started caring about the galaxy? 

(Because I'm one of the crappy people that live in it)

(When had Natasha Romanoff started quoting Star Lord would be a better question.)

"Romanoff, we can send you off to the space port if you need to," Shepard stopped the planning for a moment.

"No worries, commander," she responded, "I think I could lend a hand".

"Then we'll leave now," Shepard nodded sharply, "ETA at the relay ten hours. Get some sleep, we'll have a full briefing once we get there".

They filed silently out of the briefing room. Everything was heavy and solemn and Natasha felt weird, an interloper. She was willing to fight for the galaxy, but these weren't her friends, her team. She was just a substitute, an accident, she didn't quite belong.

"Come on," Jack hung back, "bunk with me, and tomorrow we can go blow up some things".

"Fighting side by side instead of in opposition," Natasha smiled and followed her out.

"You're always so sentimental and poetic," Jack whined, "should have travelled more instead of settling in some colony".

Yeah well, it didn't seem to have done her much good, if she couldn't take the time to do anything but self-care and blowing things up. 

"How secure are the channels here?" she asked Jack.

"Secure. I use my own system," Jack told her, "are you actually getting emotional?" 

They didn't talk about the fact that Jack was the one that wrote poetry and Natasha spent most of her time trying not to think about her feelings. 

"There's someone I need to say good-bye too," Natasha shrugged, "product of settling".

Jack rolled her eyes.

Gianna didn't respond immediately and Natasha started to worry.

But then a reply to her message flashed across the screen.

_**G: How are you?**_

_**N: I'm about to do something very stupid** _

_**G: Isn't that all you do?** _

True.

_**N: Stupider.** _

There was a pause. Natasha figured Gianna didn't know what had happened. The collectors hadn't hit Earth. She didn't think they had hit any of the colonies. Maybe she and Tod could stay safe in their bubble away from the reapers. 

_**G: You'll have to tell us all about it someday.** _

_**N: It will make a good story.** _

_**G: We could use our magical spy back. Hawkeye misses you.** _

_**N: Tell Tod I say hi. And everyone.**_

She thought for a minute and then typed out, _**I'll try to see if I can get a special space rat for H.**_

_**G: Take care.** _

_**N: You too.** _

She leaned back against a wall and spun her ring. She was not going to cry in front of Jack. She was not going to cry because she might never see the people who had loved her again. Her room would be empty forever, because they were just that kind and they would do that. And she had let them down. She hadn't learned the colony's teachings properly.

(But she could see Gianna's hands clearly in her mind: _You're one woman, Natasha, a spoony in a world that doesn't accommodate. The colony works because there are so many of us. You can't fix it for everyone else on your own._ )

No. But she could go kill some collectors and that would have to be enough.


	14. The Collector Base

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kind of closes the beginning and feeds us into next big section of storyline. So yay! Part II!
> 
> Style note - brackets mark words that are spoken that are understood through a means other than hearing (ie. Lipreading, Clint knows what he's saying even he can't hear it, etc…), italics in quotes are remembered dialogue, italics normally signing, bold and italic is written word
> 
> WARNING: Dissociation, indoctrination, and general difficulties with reality

It was watching Chambers turn into soup and slurped down a tube that forced Clint to make up his mind.

He was in charge of security. He'd failed the crew, but he'd managed to keep the collectors' eyes off Joker, and hopefully that meant the others were coming.

He still hadn't kept the crew safe, though. And he'd be damned if he watched anyone else turned into soup. It was gross.

It couldn't be the classic distraction-based prison break. The collectors didn't care, they wouldn't come no matter how much of a distraction they made. But maybe if he figure out a way to fuck up their technology. Force them to open the tube. All they had to do was let him out and they'd be dead. He wouldn't be fooled by evil paralyzing bugs twice.

He wriggled in the tube until he could look up. That was where the soup-making stuff came from, wasn't it? He could feel Dr. Chakwas' eyes on him. Hopefully, she'd watch closely enough to succeed, if he failed.

He wasn't going to fail dammit. He was going to kill these bastards, 

Soup goop came through four jets above his head. It was too enclosed for him to move his arm. 

Well, he didn't have a lot of brain cells to begin with. He jumped and smashed his head in one of the jets.

An alarm sounded like a good start. And then soup goop started coming from the remaining three jets. Shit. He could feel his arms starting to burn. 

He wasn't ready to die. Maybe if he destroyed another jet, that would be enough...he couldn't feel his fingers anymore, or his hands...he was losing...

Something crashed through the glass tube and a pair of arms dragged him away from the goop.

"I swear to god Barton," a familiar voice muttered, "you're turning me into a hero or something".

"Tasha," he gasped and it was his last coherent thought before blacking out completely.

***

He woke up to Carol spritzing water on him.

"What the fuck," he batted at the drops and then realized what was happening, "you're dead".

Aw shit. He went and died. He actually did it. When he wasn't trying to, of course. Not that it mattered. He just couldn't really afford to be dead right now, once the crew was safe maybe. Timing was all off.

"I never really died," Carol thankfully stopped spritzing water, "your friend's good, but she forgot the part where Zen gave me an experiment that made me bullet proof...though that wasn't actually on purpose".

Clint's head hurt. Who was his friend? What had Zen done? He didn't have time for catching up in the afterlife. 

"You nearly died," Carol continued, "but your friend's good, like I said, she brought you here. You're going to be all right."

He had a dim memory of someone else saying that. And not believing it.

"Where's here?" he gave up on understanding Carol.

"Normandy, med bay," Carol shrugged, "not sure exactly how long you've been out or I'd tell you, a few hours or so? Your friend and some salarian got you and the rest of the crew back here."

Too many words.

It was possible. He might not be dead. But he'd be hallucinating then because Carol was. 

Another face appeared in his line of vision, Chakwas, "How are you feeling Barton?"

"Confused"

Was he hallucinating Chakwas too? Or were they all out of the tubes?

Shit. His fingers had been melted into soup. And Natasha had somehow or other pulled him out of the soup goop. And he was on the Normandy, which meant…

"They're in the Collector base," he struggled to sit up right, "we have to help them."

Chakwas shoved him firmly down, "You only have half your arms, you aren't going anywhere". 

Why was Carol still there? This felt real?

"They're fine," Carol informed him, "Shepard just called for pick-up. The base is defeated."

Oh. 

That was too easy. He was probably dreaming. 

"You're going back to sleep now," Chakwas informed him and gently pricked him with something. Fine. Maybe whatever was next would make slightly more sense.

***

Clint drifted. 

At some point, someone turned off his hearing aids and everything became more or less silent. 

Blurry shapes moved across his vision when he opened his eyes. Clear images of collectors moved across his vision when he closed his eyes. 

His muscles felt like they were on fire though and, if he closed his eyes, there was the chance of sleeping. Things hurt a little less when sleeping happened. 

He decided at some point that things would probably hurt a bit less if he was dead. 

He recognized the reaper the first time it entered his mind and pushed it away. The second time too.

The third time, he was too weak. His vision cleared slightly. 

He could read the blobs' lips.

[Maybe we should just shoot him], the black and white blob said, he had known her name at one point, [this is torture].

[For you or for him?] the black and red blob said back, he also knew that one.

The dark blue blob turned her head away and he had no idea what they were saying.

What were they talking about? Who were they talking about? It was the clearest his head had felt in days.

Because there was something in it, blocking his thoughts, his ability to recognize these people, to understand what they were talking about, what they were doing.

He struggled against the force in his head. Forced himself to name everything that crossed his line of vision.

He won that battle. 

The fourth time, he didn't even realize there was a change. He dreamt of control and power and blood. 

He had a dream of sitting in high up in the council chambers and targeting them one by one and fighting through the turian guards that caught him. The humans that caught him seemed familiar, but they were trying to overpower him, he punched one in the mouth and reveled in the blood. He was the supreme power. He would control the galaxy, keep in order, not these stupid humans with their grand notions of technology.

They talked about shooting him again, but it didn't matter. He was too powerful. He wasn't going to die. 

They put him in restraints and knocked him out with a drug. 

It was temporary.

***

Clint woke up alone, in restraints, in a bland hospital room.

This waking up thing had to stop happening. It was getting boring. He'd died. His arms had melted off of his body and he had died and seen Carol. Why was he still alive? Why did he have arms?

He tried to think more clearly about what had happened. 

He'd been in the tube. And then Natasha had pulled him out. And that's when things started to get fuzzy. Something had been in his mind. Something had been fucking with it, playing with it like a child's game. 

He'd tried to assassinate the Council.

He'd punched Carol in the mouth. Except that was wrong, Carol was dead.

But he couldn't know because someone had played with his mind and he didn't know what was real anywhere. Clint felt nauseous. 

And alone.

But that didn't really make a difference, because his mind wasn't his own. He was dangerous. He should be alone. 

_"Do you know what it's like to be undone?"_

_"You know that I do."_

A nurse poked her head into his room and smiled, [What's your name?]

[Umm, Clint?] he tried, [Clinton Eric Barton.]

That was who he was, right? 

Her smile grew, and she approached him and touched his ears. He tensed as Noise filled his head. It was awful. 

"It's nice to have you back Mr. Barton," her voice was gently against the harsh background noise, "we weren't prepared for you for at least another week".

"Not sure what back is," he admitted. 

"You are at Huerta Memorial Hospital," the nurse stepped back, "you were under the influence of indoctrination for a month and four days".

That thing had been in his mind for over a month. Clint's stomach rolled.

"What did…did I do?" he couldn't trust his mind. He couldn't trust anything he thought or remembered. What had he done? Who had he hurt?

"Very little, considering," the nurse's smile was strained, "you broke out once and interrupted a council session. We were able to subdue you in time".

"How many civilians?" he didn't give a shit about the Council.

"I don't know," the nurse was lying. He didn't know how he knew that, but he did. Or maybe that was the reaper still there, forcing him to distrust, to hate.

"Your emergency contact is a Ms. Carter," the nurse told him hurriedly, "I'll call her immediately, as I said, we weren't expecting you for another week".

"Who the hell is Ms. Carter?" Clint wracked his brains for an actual Carter in his life.

"You should sleep," the nurse backed out the door.

But he had just been sleeping. Clint stared mutinously at the ceiling. She could have at least turned off his hearing aids before leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now I can finally talk about Carol! Which, there really isn't much to say except she's an OC that kind of turned into Peggy Carter, but not completely…and she's very much not dead.


	15. Cipritine Commune

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics do also show up as emphasis sometimes. 
> 
> I know Emily Wong is a very side character, but I really really love her and I really like the idea of Shepard and Emily dating in ME1. My Shepard definitely did. 
> 
> Really important to note the way the Binary Legalities reinforce really problematic trans narratives of gender variance. It doesn't mean the infinite possibility of trans experiences doesn't exist, just that they are harder to navigate and describe and it does really affect the way trans people here will describe themselves. Yay violently transphobic universe...not. 
> 
> Warning for transphobia.

It took her a month for Shepard to figure out what she had to do. 

She visited the compound and met the people who, unlike her, had chosen to stick together, live together, support each other's transness. They were unashamed of that fact and, slowly, Shepard stopped feeling less ashamed of her own boxing. She didn't have to hide it. She _shouldn't_ have to hide it. She wanted to stop being afraid.

It was something Anderson had never been able to teach her. He had given her a solution to a problem, not an identity to celebrate. Then again, he was set to become an admiral in the Alliance. At once point did profession become more important than an identity?

At what point did she owe the Alliance anything?

Clint's allegiance was to Miranda. He had seen it as a clear, simple lineage, Cerberus was just a means to an end. But it hadn't just been Anderson that had made her (she doubted it was just Miranda that had made Clint), it had been her trainers in N7, it had been the thresher maw on Akuze, it had been the council and Saren and a whole lot of krogan. Hell, it had been Miranda and the Illusive Man who had brought her back to life and given her a second chance. 

It wasn't simple. Either she owed the entire galaxy, or she owed no one.

And at the same time, the reapers were coming, and she had an obligation to the galaxy and survival that had nothing to do with what she owed and everything to do with who she loved.

It would be easier to stop caring about everything and tip over and die again.

She got in touch with the others like her - ones that had been boxed, but weren't part of the network. She invited them to the commune, to see Zen's crazy experiments, to try human reproductions of turian food, to listen to the stories they told. 

There were others in the Alliance, people she had fought next to, never knowing they shared a common fear. And then there were strangers - artists, mechanics, cooks, everything and everyone, all experiencing that reminder - we are not alone, we are a community, we are a family.

It was when she got to one name in particular, that Shepard realized exactly what she had to do.

She called Emily Wong.

"You know, you could have called a lot sooner," Emily's voice only held a hint of annoyance, "or replied to my message. I missed you".

"I missed you too," Shepard smiled at her voice, "that's why I couldn't reply".

She could hear the eye roll. 

"So, why are you calling now?" Emily asked, "I have better things to do than unrequited love for a spectre nowadays".

It had never been unrequited. Shepard had just been…busy (terrified). 

"We could have been good," she whispered, cursing the moment when she had started chasing down Saren. She could almost imagine a second life - living on the Citadel with her investigative journalist girlfriend, safety. 

"What do you want Shepard?" Emily sighed. And there it was, the sound of hurt, pain. The same way Garrus had walked out on her. Silent, angry, hurt.

That's what she did. Destroy things.

"You thought I didn't care," she realized.

"I'm not here for a heart to heart," Emily snapped, "I'll hang up if you don't tell me what you want. I'm not free and I'm not easy and waiting for whenever you decide to stop doing grand dramatic gestures and leave people behind".

"I'd like to give you an interview," Shepard sighed, was she really doing this?, "a special. I need to come clean, you're the only one I trust".

She felt like crap, manipulating Emily like that. But it was also true. She needed Emily Wong to break this story. 

"Fine," she could feel the weight of the decision. And couldn't help the prick of hope. She'd screwed up dating Emily. But maybe, she could fix some of that, maybe…

***

They met on Tuchanka. 

Shepard thought about having Emily come directly to the compound, like the others. But this was news, this was an interview and a story, not a tour. She'd send Emily there afterwards, while she was (probably) being arrested. Tuchanka was a safer place.

Plus, it gave her a chance to catch up with Wrex.

They sat across from each other at a table. Emily started the recorder on her omnitool and opened with the basic questions Shepard had never bothered to answer when they were relevant - coming back to life, Cerberus involvement, spectre status, disappearance after going through the Omega 4 relay.

"You said you have a story for me, Shepard," she looked at her closely, "all of this is pretty bland, nothing breaking".

"Ask about how I joined the Alliance," Shepard prompted.

"I already have that," Emily's eyebrows knit together, "Captain Anderson recruited you from a gang".

"Not from a gang," Shepard corrected, "I left the Reds when I was 16".

She could see Emily start to understand. 

"So, what happened between your time with the gang and joining the Alliance?" 

This was it. The moment. She had to do this. Not for her. For all of them. She just had to hope that her guess was correct - they needed her alive a little too much to kill her. 

And she had managed to pass a copy of the Binary Legalities to the turian councillor, whatever his name was. They would be under scrutiny from the council.

She had to make this count.

Shepard took a deep breath, "I dropped off the map, I was boxed".

Emily's eyes widened comically and her mouth formed an O. She hurriedly turned off the recorder on her omnitool.

"Shepard, what the hell is your game?" she hissed, "you know I can't break that? Do I even know you're telling the truth? Is this some kind of publicity stunt?"

Ouch.

"I was kicked out of my home when I was eight years old for trying on my mother's lipstick," she tried to stay calm, "My parents saved me by keeping me out of government records. I have lived my entire life in fear, even once there was absolutely no way to tell me apart from any cis person. I have worked and lived with other trans people, both knowingly and accidentally, and the only thing I've learned is that this needs to stop. Yes, this is a publicity stunt. This is me forcing the Alliance to make a decision".

Emily stared at her, thinking, "How'd you know to call me?"

"I would have anyways," Shepard shrugged, "I missed you. I wasn't lying when I said you were the only one I trust. But…the person who held that information was killed last year, kind of, a couple of us managed to keep the list safe, but it did give me a chance to see more than I should have."

"Us?" Emily raised her eyebrow sceptically.

"We have to stand together," Shepard pushed, "in our own ways. My way is this. One of my friend's ways was stealing the list before anyone dangerous could track it".

"And my way is breaking this story," Emily nodded and turned the recorder back on, "Commander Shepard, I need to get this straight, you are telling me that you are a trans person?"

Shepard settled back and started talking.

***

The story broke while Shepard and Wrex were out hunting varren. She got back to her room to a number of missed calls, messages. There was lots of coded stuff, that's what she got for being friends with spies and secret agents.

Before she had time to sift through all of them, a video call came from the Citadel.

Well, might as well keep them from adding up. She answered it and, a moment later, her omnitool was filled with Barton's face. Battered, but definitely Barton, not the human Saren she had pulled out of rubble in the presidium that spent more times in her nightmares than she'd like to admit.

"I woke up to quite the surprise, Fairy," he grinned at her.

She grinned back, "Well, you're a sight for sore eyes, Hawkeye".

The word had been in the commune that he would make a recovery, but Shepard had seen indoctrination before, she couldn't trust that.

"Oh, you know me, hard to keep down," he teased, "but seriously, what the hell?"

She shrugged, "Someone had to do it".

"They'll probably just kill you, you know," he shifted slightly and winced.

"You ok?" 

"What do you think?" he grumbled.

"I think you're alive," she said, "and that's a pretty good place to start".

"Tell me something I don't already know".

"The Binarity Legalities are currently under galactic scrutiny for peoplehood violations," Shepard stated, "the Alliance can't kill me without putting their place on the council in jeopardy".

"Such a relief," he rolled his eyes, "now I know you're not going to die immediately, I should sleep".

"Lazy," Shepard teased.

"Pain," Clint mumbled, eyes shutting.

The camera angle shifted until there was another face on the screen, Romanoff.

"That's the longest he's stayed awake," her face was calm, "consider yourself lucky, commander".

"I'm glad we didn't kill him," Shepard admitted, and tried not to think back to that moment in the hospital, realizing that her crew member, her friend, was indoctrinated. The fact the best thing to do might be to put a bullet through his brain. Thank the goddess for Samara. 

"Me too," Natasha agreed, "if you ever need a bodyguard, I think C-sec might be able to arrange something".

"Thanks," Shepard smiled, "I think I'll wait to see what they throw at me first".

Romanoff smiled quietly back, "There's a lot of us standing with you commander, don't forget that."

"I won't"

But was this just a distraction? Did she have time for this? The reapers were coming.

The reapers wouldn't have anything to come get if she didn't do this.

***

She was staring at her arrest warrant (just an arrest, for collaborating with Cerberus, much less than she had expected), when Wrex banged through her door.

"Shepard. Visitor."

She turned around in time to see him shove Garrus through the door. Shit.

"Hey," he stood there awkwardly in the same destroyed armour. It was hard not to smile at that. Garrus would always be Garrus, a little too proud of his scars and explosions.

"Hey," she really couldn't think of anything else to say.

She wanted to apologize. She didn't want to yell at Garrus, she didn't want him to hate her. But she couldn't take back what she had said. That would be lying.

She could lie to the council and to the galaxy, but she couldn't lie to Garrus.

"You certainly know how to cause a fuss," he stood, "though I'm pretty sure the news on Palaven is a little less damning than whatever's going on elsewhere".

"What are they saying about me?" she'd watched Emily's report, but nothing else. It was easier not to think about it.

There was a warrant for her arrest. She'd have to look at it all soon, figure out how to raise the most fuss. Publicity stunt.

"Depends on who you ask," Garrus shrugged, "lots of talk, humans are scandalized, asari vaguely amused".

"Well, good to know I'm keeping the asari in good spirits," she didn't know what else to do besides joke.

His mandibles flared slightly, she had succeeded.

But he didn't respond and the silence stretched between them like the distance in time between that last argument and this current conversation.

"Why are you here?" she asked. Why had he bothered?

"Shepard," and the way he said it hurt. That word meant so much more to him than it should, he looked up to her, even now.

"You're going to get yourself killed, thinking like that," she muttered.

"I could say the same to you," he approached her slowly, "when...you died...it ruined me. I know you're supposed to move on and that makes it sound like some human love song...but I couldn't. I still needed you to exist somewhere to be me".

"Still?" Shepard crossed her arms.

"I still do," he sounded ashamed, "I know, I know, soldiers shouldn't be that dependent on another person, just...I've been a bad turian all my life, breaking rules, joining C-sec, my dad nearly disowned me...and then you looked at me, and you didn't see a bad turian, you saw a good person".

"You don't need me to tell you you're a good person," Shepard reached out to touch his hand, "you need to tell yourself that".

"You saw how well that went," Garrus snorted, and Shepard remembered finding him in an abandoned tower picking off mercs. She remembered him dying of thirst and hunger and no sleep and then taking a rocket to the head. 

She remembered the fear that he might not make it, right after finding him again.

"I don't think I could survive you dying once," she admitted.

This was a war and she was about to go to prison, she couldn't afford this. 

A little too late to be figuring that one out. 

"You care too much," Garrus' fingers tightened around hers. 

"After Akuze, I promised myself I'd never be the one to survive," she needed him to understand, "watching everyone die around me and surviving, it was…horrible, it was a game of luck. But, I decided that if it was ever a situation of me or another person, I would be the one to die".

"That's pretty selfish".

"I'm not a good person," she shrugged, "Commander Shepard's a myth."

"Doesn't mean the truth isn't based in reality," his other hand reached her shoulder, "I'm not following the myth, I'm following the person".

She leaned into his touch, vaguely aware that it was a little more intimate than was probably appropriate. But this was Garrus, dammit. 

"War is messy," she told him, "things don't work the way they're supposed to, but there's no Shepard without Vakarian. You've been with me since the beginning".

"No Shepard without Vakarian," he whispered and his arms tightened around her in a hug. 

It was stupid. She knew that. She knew she'd regret this moment the minute Garrus left the room. She'd worry about that later.


	16. On the run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miranda and Garrus are adorable…
> 
> Warnings for transphobia and inter-species racism

It was strange after Shepard "came out". 

Miranda had spent her life in history, reading about the brave trans women who had built the path for her, only to have everything broken down with the Binary Legalities and the Purge. She had watched the vids of the first executions of trans people from the safety of her father's home. She had listened to the stories Zen and Isu and Mara told of. She knew their communal history backwards and forwards. 

But she had committed her own life to survival, nothing more, nothing less.

And now she was watching history happen before her eyes. Now it was someone she knew. She was part of it, not outside of it. 

It was time to rethink her place in history. 

Jack was the first person she ran into from the Normandy. Somehow, over the course of a suicide mission, they had found a kind of peace. Jack made cookies and Miranda made tea and it felt strangely domestic, for someone who had tried to kill her less than a year ago. 

"What do you think of Shepard?" Jack had asked.

"I think she's the strongest person I've ever met," Miranda had spoken the truth.

Jack had nodded in agreement and went back to insulting the tea. That was all. 

There was something about Jack that always tilted her world a little bit, a relationship that never quite fit the boundaries of any other relationship. They weren't enemies on two ends of a conflict. But they weren't precisely at the same end either. 

She needed Garrus, a reminder that she did have someone, and that, in her own way, she had a "normal" relationship. (She could never be normal). 

He had returned to the turian military and was climbing the ranks of the Hierarchy. It was as if his time working with a terrorist organization had been enough to turn him into a model citizen. She broke into his house anyways, because she hadn't knocked in years and wasn't going to change that now because she was "dating" a model citizen. 

There were voices coming from upstairs as she made her way into the kitchen. Angry voices. She recognized Garrus, but it took her a little while to figure out who the other voice was.

Oh. That shrill scream was Tali.

It seemed she had come at a bad time. 

He had levo tea stocked in his cupboard and she smiled. He had been expecting her. Miranda settled herself in the kitchen to wait, and hope that no one was angry enough to disrupt her tea. 

A door opened and she could start hearing voices more clearly.

"You can't impose turian standards on other races, all you turians just think the rest of the galaxy works like you". 

"How do you know it's just a turian standard? You're just doing the same things for humans."

"For humans, it's an illness. You can't just ignore the facts".

"What facts? The fact that humans are getting murdered for their illness and it's considered legal?"

"So are ardat-yakshi."

"So you're comparing asari that suck out people's souls to humans that change gender? That's disgusting, even the ardat-yakshi have a chance at life".

"It's illegal, we don't know the risks at all!"

"My sister and I grew up around them, there are absolutely no risks involved".

"Oh yeah, and I thought the fact that you chose to follow one of your sick humans might be part of those risks".

"You chose to follow her too".

"That was a mistake".

"Are you speaking for yourself here, or your band of misfit storytellers that brought the robot apocalypse to the galaxy?"

"You're forgetting that I'm an admiral now, I _am_ the migrant fleet".

"Well, I'm fucking done with the migrant fleet spouting bullshit in my house, get out!"

There was clomping and Tali appeared in the kitchen.

"You need to talk sense into him," she informed Miranda, "tell him how dangerous Shepard is".

She had chosen the wrong ally. 

"I think reapers are slightly more dangerous," Miranda raised her eyebrows.

"She's brainwashed all of you," Tali huffed, "just like a reaper".

Miranda's heart turned cold in anger.

"I nearly had to kill my friend a month ago," she spat, "please do not compare the situation".

He might still be dead. And she'd left. Yeah, it was survival, but she still felt like a traitor. 

"Maybe killing them all would save you from this mess," Tali remarked darkly and left, slamming the door behind her.

Miranda watched her leave, shaking in frustration. This. This was why people didn't do what Shepard did. This was why they hid in corners and survived. Nothing more, nothing less. Because no one would understand. Because she was just as good as a reaper, or worse. 

"I feel like I should be annoyed about you inviting yourself into my house," Garrus appeared at the bottom of the stairs, forcing Miranda to refocus on her surroundings. 

"You shouldn't expect anything else," Miranda sipped at her tea and tried to calm her shaking.

"She's wrong, you know," his mandibles were pulled in tight, upset.

"But, you are too," Miranda raised her eyebrows, "just because it's right for turians doesn't mean it is for humans. It's a completely different situation."

"Still doesn't justify murder," Garrus protested, "or would you rather I kill you right now out of mercy?"

Maybe she did. Maybe Tali was right and this was just some kind of sickness. Why else would everything be so horrible?

She'd thought she'd erased those thoughts from her mind a long time ago. 

What had she said to Clint? He had been dying for a while, he should make it mean something? 

She couldn't die unless it meant something.

"I'd want a public execution," she mused, "something so horrifying and brutal that even the top of the Alliance would have to admit that it might not be the solution".

His mandibles tightened more; as she calmed, he was getting more and more upset. 

"Why does that disturb you so much?" she questioned - he had no reason to be upset. It wasn't his head on the line.

"I'm not going to kill you," he spoke softly.

"When your identity condemns you to death, the concept feels a bit different," Miranda admitted, "that's why you can't apply turian standards…the experience is so different".

Garrus nodded miserably and moved to open the fridge door.

"I went to see Shepard," he announced to the fridge interior. 

"How did that go?" Miranda tried not to show her curiosity. All she knew was that the two had not ended on the best of terms, that Shepard was probably the most important person in Garrus' life, and that he really needed to learn how to sort out his emotions better (and Miranda couldn't help with that because she was the Ice Queen and terrible at emotions).

"I don't know," he sighed, "but she's alive, and she's fighting and…it was nice to see her".

"I'll have to figure out how to visit her," Miranda considered, "low security prison in Vancouver? It shouldn't be that hard".

Garrus sat down opposite her with a beer, "Is it strange that the thing I love most about her is how human she is?"

Love. That was a word they didn't talk about.

Dating? They'd given up on that after the first awkward attempt. 

Relationship? Yes. 

Committed? As much as they could when she was constantly on the run.

Love? Not part of the equation.

And yet Miranda felt jealous the way Garrus said it so easily. Of course he loved Shepard, she knew that. Everyone knew that. The headlines referred to him as "Shepard's right hand" and "Shepard's best friend", the tabloids constantly questioned their relationship. Shepard and Vakarian, they were a team.

Not Vakarian and Lawson. 

She had no idea what they were. 

"She is the shining emblem of humanity," Miranda shoved away the jealousy, "or was, I guess. Now she's just making us humans question our values".

"She does that to everyone," Garrus laughed and then looked at her seriously, "you know my relationship with Shepard doesn't affect anything about us, right? You know I love you, right?"

How the hell did he always read her mind? How the hell did he say it so easily? As if it was just an everyday offhand comment? (and not a declaration of things that didn't fit into a life of fighting monsters). 

"I didn't actually," she stared at her tea, "but thanks".

"What did you think this was then?" he tilted his head.

"I don't know," Miranda hated admitting that, hated not knowing things, hated being jealous, needing affirmation. She didn't need any of that before Garrus had waltzed into her life and hugged her. 

Or maybe she had and just hadn't had the chance to recognize it. 

He stared at her and then opened his beer, "Well, Miranda Lawson, come hell or high water, or ridiculous spectre or reapers, which is more likely the case, I love you".

She allowed herself to smile, "Love you too".

She'd never said that to anyone before.


	17. The Citadel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General history/disclaimer on signing in this fic - my knowledge of sign languages is limited to very basic ASL. Due to the AHL, that is very much based on cure culture and the increased technology, deaf culture slowly died out and was really only preserved in some autist colonies, particularly Tokyo, where almost everyone signs. Due to the US-centricness of the Alliance, ASL was the main sign language preserved, but the isolation of each colony means it developed differently. 
> 
> Clint learning to sign was a happy accident that happened when the commune got a surprise visitor his first few weeks there…
> 
> Also, I'm very attached to quarian Angie. That was going to happen before this fic happened.

Working with Peggy Carter was, on one hand, ridiculous (Peggy Carter and Natasha Romanoff), weird (working with someone you murdered wasn't an everyday occurrence), and rewarding (after being the ones to drag Commander Shepard and her team back from the Omega 4 relay, C-Sec had pretty much given them free reign - do shit, don't get caught, preferably do shit that helps the Citadel, Pallin gave her less regulations, but more guidance than before, he trusted her). 

And she'd never had a partner before. Peggy had trained with turians too, but the underground, her technique was much more to smash into whatever was in her way until it broke or gave up. What with the being immune to bullets and Natasha's immunity to biotics, they were a pretty good match. Natasha did the subtle stuff, Peggy did the bashing. It was almost fun.

Peggy's attempts at matchmaking wasn't.

"That guy that works in the sushi shop is hot, you should ask him out," they were literally bashing in the heads of the Blood Pack, she always chose a moment that Natasha couldn't run away from.

"If he's so hot, maybe you should ask him out," she took a page out of her opponent's book and headbutted the krogan. It worked. Huh.

She could always explain that she was aroace and definitely not interested, but that could lead to conversations about brokenness and psych cures and all the stuff that hadn't gone away in the centuries that an asexual community had existed. Natasha shot a vorcha in the head and decided she'd just suffer through the interrogation.

(Peggy was better at Blood Pack, bashing and crashing and all that, this whole mission was kind of Peggy and with Natasha tagging along as back up to begin with…that was the problem with having a partner, sometimes she had to do missions that weren't specifically tailored to her skill set).

"I'm not the one pining," Peggy had caught onto headbutting a lot quicker than Natasha. Down went a few more krogan.

"I'm not pining," Natasha insisted. Peggy had this ridiculous assumption that, because Natasha had been the one to keep Miranda from shooting Clint, she was madly in love with him.

Liking Clint and wanting him alive and enjoying spending time with him (as much as she could enjoy being with someone who still wasn't convinced she was real and was knocked out on drugs half the time) were very different things from pining. 

A vorcha lunged at her and she shot it in the throat. 

"You spend all your free time at Huerta," Peggy bashed into another krogan, "like, sitting in a hospital with a guy in restraints is your social life, doesn't that tell you something?"

That she suddenly had slightly more social life than she used to because Clint and his krogan-bashing-bullet-proof friend had plopped down in the middle of her job?

Natasha decided to ignore that and shot the last vorcha.

"I think that's all of them," she said, "let's check out the merch". 

Peggy stayed quiet while they gathered the weapons and called it in, but she started pushing again as soon as they left the site.

"If you don't like the sushi guy, how about that reporter?" 

"Specify," Natasha avoided eye contact, "there are lots of reporters".

"Oh, you know, the reporter that broke Shepard's story," Peggy ran to catch up with her, "she's cute".

"You know, if you asked her out, she'd probably say yes," Natasha had seen that reporter skulking around C-sec more than necessary. She was pretty sure she was eyeing Peggy. Pretty sure. She had an eye for those things.

"She'd probably prefer someone a little more elegant," Peggy pushed.

Natasha rolled her eyes, "Just ask her out already and stop trying to find me a date, I don't need one".

***

Of course Clint's solution was to go on the date and sabotage it.

_That's stupid,_ she told him. She signed with him. He preferred it, and she was pretty rusty, so the practice was good. Of course, she ended up having to talk most of the time anyways because he'd apparently learned from a guy from the Gandor colony and, up until now, she'd only signed in Tokyo. 

"And you're possibly a figment of my imagination," he shrugged, "I'm not fucking too much up, I hope…"

And there it was again. Clint logic. Something with the mix of indoctrination and Peggy not being dead, he'd decided that either everything was a completely fictionalized universe his mind had created to deal with his death or that everything was real but the reaper had indoctrinated him enough to make him think it wasn't there until he started hurting people. 

Natasha couldn't blame him. She'd been there. She'd had to crawl out of that alone. Sometimes she still thought she was in her cell in Teltin, forced to play out a scenario in her mind as a test. Joke was on them, though, she had let them get blown up in that scenario. 

This was the kind of thing she couldn't explain to Peggy. 

Her relationship with Clint was most easily defined as "neither of us killed the other when we had the chance", but under that, there was another simple truth - she couldn't let him go through this alone. Not for him, for her. She had to be the person she never had. 

_You're not fucking anything up, because I'm not going on any dates,_ she rolled her eyes at him. 

"But that's the boring solution," he whined, "what's going to amuse me while I'm stuck here?"

_Me complaining about your girlfriend trying to set me up on dates,_ Natasha smirked at him, sorry.

"She's not my girlfriend," he sighed, "she's…you know".

Natasha didn't know. But she knew not to ask. The trans people had their own rules that she couldn't quite grasp. She'd learned that if she pushed they turned into brick walls. It wasn't worth the effort. 

_Well good, because she needs to ask the stalker reporter out soon,_ she huffed.

"Stalker reporter," he raised his eyebrows, "please tell".

So Natasha told. And ignored the dark clouds surrounding the room. They'd have to leave eventually, right?

***

Natasha and Peggy got a long-term assignment, off-Citadel assignment: track down the Shadow Broker. 

Like all intelligence gathering organizations, C-sec worked with the Shadow Broker. The information economy was a necessary evil of the business. But, like any business partner, it was always good to have a little extra information on who they dealt with. That was their job.

They started in Omega and managed to trace an informant to Ilium. 

The trail went cold there. After a week of sharing a hotel room and following every single possible piece of pointless gossip down, it was getting frustrating.

And then Peggy fell in love with the quarian that served breakfast at the hotel. Which wasn't a problem for the mission, Peggy was good at her job, just a little annoying.

Attempts to set Natasha up on dates turned into deep conversations about quarian-human relationships and the fact that Anji had given Peggy an extra slice of pie that morning.

"Now who's pining," Natasha grumbled, stretched on her bed, looking through the data pads again, just in case they'd missed something.

"At least Anji knows I'm real," Peggy leaned back comfortably in her bed and then shot straight back up, "I'm sorry that was rude".

Natasha rolled her eyes, "Don't see why you can't talk about Clint, it's probably harder for you anyways, he thinks you're dead".

And she had known him a lot longer, had seen the change, knew what she was missing. 

Peggy quieted and lay back down on her bed, "This mission's just getting to me, is there really absolutely nothing?"

Natasha shook her head, "nothing". 

She picked up another data pad, records of a transaction between Detective Anaya and the Shadow Broker, they'd tracked down the agent, but then the agent had led them on a wild goose chase among other agents. 

She tossed Peggy the data pad, "We could try to track this guy down again, but he's probably gone to ground by now".

"Wait," Peggy squinted at something on her omnitool, "What do you think about this?" 

Natasha synched her omnitool. It was a news report. Nothing special, she glanced at Peggy at in confusion. 

Peggy stood and approached and tapped on a volus in the back of the image. What?

"Check out his omnitool," Peggy explained, "model that only the underground uses".

Natasha couldn't tell. She felt slightly stupid. And then rationalized it. Peggy had spent most of her life with the underground, she'd know that kind of stuff. That's why Natasha had a partner in the first place - to fill in the gaps in her knowledge. 

"Volus connected with the turian underground on Illium," she rationalized, "has to be a contact, let's go".

"No," Peggy shook her head, "we can't lose him like the last one, can't do the barging in thing".

Natasha raised her eyebrows, had Peggy seriously just said that?

"You track him," Peggy said, "give me four hours, I still have contacts with the underground, I can make him trust us".

Oh ok. Four hours. That was still barging in. 

"I'll see you in four hours," Natasha rolled off her bed and strapped on her extra guns. Finally.

***

Natasha crouched in the vent and tried to piece out what was going on between Peggy and the asari. The Shadow Broker. Maybe it was racism, but she really hadn't expected the Shadow Broker to be an asari. 

Neither of them had. If they had, she would be the one staring down the asari and Peggy would be hiding in the vent. 

"Peggy Carter," the Shadow Broker narrowed her eyes, "you only started existing eight months ago".

"I died," Peggy kept her gun trained on the asari, "it's a long story".

"Yes, true," the Shadow Broker considered, "you started existing right around a rather shocking death in the human compound in Cipritine. Someone who had been leaking quite a lot of information to Cerberus was shot in the head, it left a number of trans people fearing for their lives, though I do believe that the Council would keep them safe if they asked for amnesty, considering the current situation".

Shit. 

She knew all the right buttons to press to set Peggy off. Natasha held her breath and willed calmness. Just keep her talking enough to get a voice print, some basic information for Pallin and they'd be gone. Ten minutes max, Peggy could do that, right?

Peggy looked terrified. Had she seriously not expected something like this? This was the Shadow Broker they were dealing with, of course she'd know a little more than they'd want her to. The important question was what information was she selling out, not which information she had. 

"It's ok, Romanoff," the asari called, "I know Carter never works alone. Though you are definitely good at hiding".

She wasn't about to step out and reveal the one thing the Shadow Broker didn't know. 

"Or you can stay hidden," the Shadow Broker continued, "considering your history, I am unsurprised you are suspicious. Either of you. But you are very clever. No one else has been able to track me without me wanting them to".

"No one else is me," Peggy lifted the gun slightly. 

"You really are quite remarkable," the asari smiled, "Though I'd expect nothing less. You were with Commander Shepard at the collector base, were you not?"

"Managed to sneak in with help from the Normandy's IFF," Peggy responded, "I was curious".

Natasha had never quite gotten a straight answer from Peggy why she was there. It had always been a question in her mind - why had a dead person chosen that specific moment to show she was alive?

Everyone was allowed their secrets. Which was why the Shadow Broker was so terrifying. She knew everything. 

The Shadow Broker gently pushed the gun aside, "I'm not going to hurt you".

"That's not why I'm here," Peggy kept her wariness, but she let the gun drop. 

"Yes, yes, you're gathering intel for C-sec," the asari rolled her eyes and handed her a data pad, "I want citadel space secure as much as Pallin, here".

That was dangerous.

Peggy didn't take it (thank god), "What do you want for this?"

"I'd like you and Romanoff to consider an offer," the asari finally smiled, "I fought with Commander Shepard in the battle of the Citadel."

Oh. This was Liara T'Soni. Liara T'Soni was the Shadow Broker. That was definitely information that wasn't on the data pad. It also wasn't information that would make it to Pallin. People who fought with Shepard had a habit of sticking together.

Admittedly, Natasha had fought with Shepard for all of thirty minutes, but still, it was there, that scrap of loyalty. Damn it. 

T'Soni kept talking, "I could use my own intelligence agents. Nothing big, I wouldn't ask you to leave your jobs, just…collect some things now and then. I can pay well, monetarily or in information".

"I'm not a double agent," Peggy glared. Natasha kept her relief inaudible. Her loyalties were to Pallin and C-sec, but she had absolutely no idea where Peggy's were…most of the time.

"Well, consider it," T'Soni offered the datapad again, "and consider this a feeble attempt at bribery and a thank you for your part in keeping the Collectors off my hands". 

Peggy took the datapad and left. Natasha crawled slowly through the vents. Damn these things. Terribly. Maybe she should have given away her position just to avoid the inevitable bruises that came from the stupidity of crawling around in vents.


	18. Huerta Memorial Hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for dissociation

It was harder for Clint to hold on to reality without Natasha. 

Then again, it was easier without Carol constantly reminding him he was dead. 

He knew the nurses and the people around him thought they were real. He wanted them to be real. He wanted them to be right. 

But what if they weren't?

What if the reaper was just giving them to him so he wouldn't suspect anything?

He couldn't trust anything.

But he had been able to trust Natasha a little more than everything else. Her predictability (always showed up at the same time, sat in the same place, gave him the same tiny smirk every time he said something stupid) was comforting. 

And she was honest. When he asked her if she was real, she'd shrugged and said "I like to think so". When he told her that the reaper could still possibly be in his head, she'd nodded and told him that was a chance she was willing to take. She wasn't filled with any grand notions of cure and recovery, just practical. ("It would be good if you got back on your feet, there's a galactic war coming and you're a good shot"). 

The only thing she wouldn't answer was how many civilians he had killed. As if not knowing that number was going to make it any better. He'd killed people. He'd been controlled by something else and he'd kill people and they might not even exist but he was dangerous, even in his own imagination. 

Still, it was easier to trust that whatever this was, it was reality, or at least his new reality with her around. ("Does it really matter if it's imaginary? I mean, you're here, might as well enjoy it while it exists", sometimes Natasha logic worked). 

But now she was off on some secret mission in an unknown location and he was slipping with nothing to grip onto. 

Thane stopped by, which was strange, they'd never connected on the Normandy, always in a different place than the other. It happened on such a big ship.

"I have regular treatment here," he explained, "it would be rude not to say hello". 

"Hello," Clint responded. Thane stared.

"It's a joke," Clint explained. Thane stared more.

"Human thing," he sighed. 

Thane nodded slowly, "How are you doing?"

"Alive," Clint shrugged, ignoring the pain (the fact that his muscles still felt like they were on fire meant he wasn't a reaper, right?), "you?"

"Alive," Thane agreed, "for the moment".

"Make it count," Clint grimaced. He'd failed at that part. 

***

The days when nothing hurt were the worse. When things hurt, he could focus on that, focus on not screaming every time he moved. When nothing hurt, or hurt less, there was nothing to ground him, keep him in any kind of reality, fake or not. 

He was halfway between Narnia and Hell when Miranda came to visit. 

He pretended to be asleep. She'd always told him to be strong and here he was, restrained to a bed, because he couldn't trust himself. It was embarrassing. 

"This is probably the only chance I'll get to be here, Clint," she saw right through him, "I'm risking a lot coming to the Citadel, I hope it's worth it".

Damn her. He opened his eyes.

"Not really here right now," he admitted, "or maybe you're not."

Was it really Miranda? 

Miranda hadn't died. But there had been collectors. And goop.

And he really wished his brain would stop working because it was taking him places he didn't want to go. 

"I'm here," she sat down in Natasha's chair, the one a little farther away from him, "and so are you".

Where was here? Or did it matter? Were they really both in the same here?

There was a shape sitting behind the vent on the opposite wall, but that was probably just a shadow?

But Miranda was in the same place as him, maybe, he should enjoy that while it existed.

"They won't tell me," he muttered, "how many did I kill?"

Miranda narrowed her eyes, "I don't know the exact number, there was never an official count".

"Don't lie to protect me," he had had enough of the lying.

"It's the truth," she said quietly, "I know there were five c-sec officers and twelve civilians, but…"

They were only numbers. Numbers caused by a reaper, not him. He wasn't a reaper. He was a fucking monster, dammit.

"But what?" 

"You seemed to be targeting undocumented civilians," she was calm, "the reaper…it knew that would be the best way to destroy you".

"Doesn't make it any less destructive," he tried not to think about it. Except it was there. The homeless. The illegal immigrants. People who had dropped off the official record for one reason or another. People like him. He had been killing his fucking family. 

The shadow in the vent had turned into a person. That he recognized. Very well. 

He narrowed his eyes, "Is Eva real?" 

Miranda whirled around and Eva was suddenly holding her by gunpoint. It was very surreal. Definitely imagination, or something. 

"Clint, Eva is very real," Miranda gritted out, staring at the gun. 

Ok. Part of this reality. Interesting. He hadn't seen Eva in ages. Except his brain had been intact that time. 

Eva grinned, "I've come to take you back to where you belong".

"And where is that?" Miranda circled, pushing Eva (?) away from Clint. Damn coddling. He could handle Cerberus agents with guns. 

His cybernetic arms were restrained because he punched his already dead friends. Right. 

"The Illusive Man would like to talk to you," Eva's grin was creepy, "though I'm under orders for you to visit Leng first".

Oh. Miranda hadn't been circling Eva away from Clint, she'd been circling her closer to the window. Clever. 

Miranda knocked the gun out of Eva's hand. And Eva moved to punch her but she blocked. They were equally balanced, each blocking the other. Except Miranda was slowly pushing Eva towards the window…

Clint punched Eva in the mouth and she fell backwards through broken glass to crash into the presidium below. 

He watched her fall and tried to figure out what had happened. He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember anything. His mind was a blank. Shitshitshitshitshitshit. What had happened? What was he doing? Where was he?

"Clint,"

Who was that?

"Clint, look at me".

Oh. That was Miranda. He turned, slowly and carefully, in case it wasn't. In case it was, he didn't want to hurt her. Like...he had just hurt Eva. Shit. 

He'd never hurt one of them. They didn't hurt their own. Except he had. Twice. 

"Clint, it's all right," she reached out to him.

It most definitely wasn't, he tore out of her grasp and tried to run away. But his legs gave way (he hadn't used them in a while, how did he know that?) and he crumpled to the floor.

He could feel the world slipping away as he grasped frantically for a foothold in his mind. There had to be something. Something that he could hold onto so he didn't lose everything. Just…most things. 

All he needed was one little grasp of truth.

"Tasha".

***

The first thing he noticed was that he wasn't in restraints. Nothing holding back his creepy new arms. 

He was curled into a corner, a squishy corner and there was something pressed against him…a body? Hopefully that would be enough to hold the robot parts in place. 

He cracked open his eyes. It was a couch. The squishiness was a bright orange couch and the body was Miranda. That was odd.

"You don't like touching people," he commented.

She nodded and kept tapping at her omnitool. 

"Why are you touching me?" he pushed. 

"It's grounding," her eyes flicked across the screen. What was she doing? 

He wasn't slipping anymore. Reality was definitely in question, but it wasn't changing. He wasn't going anywhere. His brains were being…cooperative…almost. 

She was right. It was grounding.

"For you or for me?" 

She tapped something on the omnitool and didn't respond immediately. 

He thought about shifting to see what she was doing, but his head hurt like fuck. 

Miranda glanced up, "Yeah, sorry, had to knock you out".

Fear seized Clint, "What did I do?" 

"Nothing," she smiled back at the screen, "it was just the fastest way to get your brain back on track, learned it in terrorist school".

Oh yeah. Basic team training. If a team member or ally goes bonkers, knock them out, because it will give the brain a chance to realign. If they wake up and are still bonkers, leave them for medical or to their own ruin. 

"You going to abandon me now?" he asked, "can't say I'm all here…there…somewhere…" where was he?

"I'm not that kind of terrorist anymore," she shrugged.

"What kind of terrorist are you then?" he tried not to think about anything that could disrupt the equilibrium. He wanted it to last. 

"The running for my life kind," she tapped something on her omnitool, "Finally".

"Sorry, Lawson," tinny voice came through, "kind of got stuck in a vent for a while". 

Natasha. He tried to push himself to actually see if it wasn't just his ears playing tricks on him (his ears were even less reliable than his brain) but the pounding in the head forced him to stop.

Miranda smirked slightly and moved her omnitool, so he could see. 

Natasha looked frazzled, her hair was a mess, and there was dirt on her chin and a tiny cut on her cheek that was still bleeding. But it was her. His mind took a step onto solid ground for the first time in weeks. 

"Hey Hawkeye," she grinned at him, "guess what".

"My head hurts," he wasn't going to play any guessing games.

"Fine," she rolled her eyes and her eyes moved back to Miranda, "what's the deal, Lawson?"

"There was a break," Miranda replied calmly, "your presence would have helped".

"I have a job and a life," Natasha sounded annoyed, "no one can just be at the beck and call of someone else. I'm doing what I can".

"And I'm doing even less, I know," Miranda was frustrated, "it's just…there's been shit, I don't want to lose him".

Clint thought about pointing out it was kind of awkward for them to be talking like that with him sitting right there. Here. Somewhere. But his head hurt.

"What kind of shit?" Carol appeared in the frame. No. That was Peggy. She was alive. Clint focused on the pounding in his head and not the fact that Carol Peggy was alive and that meant he was probably dead.

Why else would Miranda be sitting this close to him? 

It was grounding, right. He breathed. Reality. 

"Eva attacked me," Miranda spoke darkly, "seems like The Illusive Man has taken her in".

Oh. He had punched Eva. He had punched his friend. Except maybe she wasn't a friend? He used to work for the Illusive Man and now Miranda was running from him and he really didn't know where he fit into this picture, except that he had punched Eva…out a window. 

"Shit," Carol Peggy whispered, "I'd almost say he has a fetish, that means…"

"The network's going to have to split," Miranda nodded, "Cerberus has too much power over us, if we're attacking our own".

Wait what? No network?! Wasn't that the whole point of his imaginary (real?) Shepard practically handing herself over to the Alliance? So that they could be a network, a community. Live. 

"So Cerberus is after you and Clint's a mess," Carol Peggy shrugged, "what's new?" 

"What's new is I'd like to do something about it," Miranda sighed, "I have a sister that I haven't seen in months. A friend in prison because she's trans. There was a reaper sighting near Omega that I probably have to take care of because the person who's most equipped to deal with it is in prison. And did I mention the boyfriend that I can't see without putting his life at risk? I'm just…tired".

Clint had a feeling hugging Miranda would make her run away. She should at least get to see Oriana. Having a sister, a real family, that was something special, very few of them had that. He reached out and patted her knee instead. She tensed slightly and then smiled.

"You called me while I was tracking the most wanted information broker of all time because you were tired?" Natasha grumbled.

"No, I called because when the only coherent thing Clint says is someone's name, I call that someone".

Did he do that? Well, um, that was a little awkward…

"Cute, Hawkeye," Natasha, at least, was still aware he could hear the conversation, "don't worry, I'll be back to annoy you…soon…I hope". 

He nodded and regretted the pounding it caused, "I look forward to it".

"Maybe that isn't the best place for him," Natasha forgot he was there again, "I could take him somewhere…where we wouldn't have to worry".

"That sounds very sketchy," Miranda's tone was clipped.

"She means Tokyo," Clint sighed at their lack of trust, "the autist colony".

"I never told you that," Natasha looked wary.

Wasn't it obvious? She spun her ring constantly, she signed, but not the way Matt had taught him, she babbled about executive function and spoons and she had an ambiguous group of "friends in Japan" and "the people I lived with". 

He shrugged, "Might as well go somewhere people actually sign, maybe your spoon babble is what I need".

Then he closed his eyes because thinking with a headache, especially while trying to keep his brain in place and not slipping down the slope of unreality and fear, was just a little too much.


	19. Grissom Academy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mentions of abuse/manipulation

Miranda ran into Jack again.

Or more, she caught wind of a good place for biotics to hide for a few days and it turned out to be a school where Jack taught.

Which was new, but not as strange as Miranda would have thought when she met Jack. It was more in character than Jack would ever admit - she was fiercely protective, but enjoyed sharing, a perfect mix for a teacher. 

"How long are you hiding out here?" she demanded, "you might have something to add to the lessons".

What did Miranda have that Jack didn't? She was built to be the perfect person, not the perfect weapon.

"As long as it's safe," Miranda replied, "as long as you'll have me?"

"You're welcome here as long as you want," Jack shrugged, "we're pretty cut off here, you should be good until the next inspection, so two months".

The longest Miranda had stayed in one place since going on the run had been six days. Two months was luxury, but was Jack actually right?

"I'll stay a month," she decided, "I wouldn't want the person chasing me to come here, she's...dangerous".

Eva shouldn't be dangerous. Miranda had found her when she was about seven, she'd practically grown up on the commune. And then...she'd joined Cerberus, and then disappeared. She couldn't even be older than eighteen, maybe nineteen. 

What had happened?

"Worse than Cerberus or what?" Jack was unimpressed.

"Cerberus," Miranda replied, "I'm imagining the worst parts".

Jack glared at her, "I am the worst part".

Oh.

"How much data do you think Cerberus got from...you know," she hated saying it, recognizing that she had inadvertently condoned child abuse.

"Don't be polite, it wastes time," Jack leaned against a wall, "you think this person after you is connected somehow?"

Except why hadn't Eva used biotics on her? That would have made everything easier for her?

But it hadn't just been biotics there.

"I think they may have tried to recreate Romanoff artificially," she realized, "not actually sure what they've done".

"Sounds perfect," Jack grinned, "good challenge for the students, teach them they need more than just biotics to get by in a fight".

Miranda wished it was that simple.

***

Jack kissed her in front of the students the fourth day. She was helping one of the quiet ones (who was too scared to ask questions in the big group), and demonstrated a specific pattern that made throws stronger.

"Can we see you and Lawson fight?" one of the other students asked, "like, a real, actual thing, not our boring exercises?"

"Your boring exercises are much more important than watching a sparring match," Jack responded, "and no real actual fights because it would probably destroy the planet".

"We're not suited to spar gracefully," Miranda smirked. 

She and Jack? Together, the only thing they did was destroy, in anger, in biotics, in power. Against each other or alongside, it didn't matter. They were a powerful, dangerous force.

"How about a tiny demonstration then?" another student suggested, "it could be based on something we know, like warp, so we could learn something from it?"

Suddenly, Jack caught her eye and Miranda knew exactly what she was thinking.

"How about a trick from commander Shepard herself?" Jack offered, "but this counts as your break, ok?"

The students all agreed their break away readily. 

Miranda tried to judge the situation, she'd only ever done it against Shepard, doing it against Jack would be different, probably cause a lot more damage.

She gathered her energy and molded it as Jack shot a singularity well out of range of the students…and anything really (Miranda liked these school's practice rooms). And then shot, hoping she had judged the pattern well enough to give it enough power to be exciting, not dangerous.

The singularity crackled and detonated in a rush of sparks.

"Fucking beautiful," Jack murmured and then dragged her into a kiss. Miranda flailed slightly and gave up. Kissing Jack was kind of nice.

But oh god, what if Jack wanted more?

She'd have to leave the best safe house she had.

"I'll take more of that demonstration," one student commented. 

Jack threw a singularity right above his head, "Be careful what you say Riley". 

***

She liked Jack. 

She liked what she had with Jack. 

She didn't like that Jack had gone and changed that, with an audience. 

Time to get this over with, grit her teeth and rip the band aid off. She marched herself to Jack's office.

"I'm not going to have sex with you," she announced.

"I know," Jack tossed her data pad aside, "sorry about earlier, I got carried away, we're pretty badass, you know."

Oh. 

"You know?" she felt stupid. 

"Your pet security officer gave Taylor a lot of shit about it once," Jack put her legs on her desk, "now, unless you're offering to be amusing, get out of my office so I can finish this lesson plan".

She'd have to talk to Clint about forgiving and letting bygones be bygones and not taking care of other people's business for them…

If she could talk to Clint. She'd have to trust Romanoff on this one. She couldn't think about that right now. 

"You should take a break," she said, "I'll go make tea".

"Cookies are on the second shelf to the right of the stove," Jack called after her.

***

The second time, she was the one that kissed Jack. Quietly. In Jack's office. With the door shut. 

"I'd almost say you're interested in me, Cheerleader," Jack teased, "what would your boyfriend say?"

She had no idea. 

But she was drawn to Jack - the power, the energy, the passion. They complimented each other in a way, she was the ice queen, Jack was a constant, burning flame. 

It was all disgustingly romantic (whereas, with Garrus, it had just been completely awkward). 

"The existence of one relationship does not negate another," she retreated to her chair, "it's something we're working on."

Shepard and Vakarian. Vakarian and Lawson. Lawson and…?

"Must suck," Jack sat back down, "dating someone you can't fuck…well, see, every day".

Yes. Yes it was. She couldn't even call him, talk to him, message him, nothing. She sent him emails from other people's addresses sometimes - an image, a quote, just anything innocuous to let him know she was alive, but she was pretty much uncontactable, she hadn't heard from him since she'd stopped by his house and they'd spent the night watching some old stupid turian military vids. 

He could even be dead. She just had to hope he wasn't and that she'd have a chance to see him soon. 

"I walked out on Cerberus," she said, "it's to be expected".

"Still sucks," Jack flipped through her data pads, "are you doing this because you miss him?"

The thought hadn't occurred to her.

"I don't know," she opted for the truth. 

"Well, I have ten evaluations to write for tomorrow, so now you should get out," Jack commanded.

"I'll bring you tea," Miranda offered, Jack nodded, already intent on the first data pad.

***

Eva found her before the month was over. 

She snuck up in the middle of a lesson and attacked and Miranda had instinctively tried to throw her with biotics and stared in horror as Eva remained put, two feet on the ground, manipulating the biotics Miranda had just sent at her into…something else. She ducked as a raw blast of biotics roared over her head and crashed into a fountain.

"Get the students out," Jack appeared at her side, "I can…deal with this".

"She's my problem," Miranda insisted.

"And I spar with Romanoff on a regular basis," Jack started building…something with her biotics, "let me do what I'm experienced in".

Fine fine. Miranda turned to the students watching with wide eyes, "Come on".

The school had an underground bunker of sorts, in case the biotics got out of hand. Which was about to happen. She slammed the emergency button and shoved them all inside.

"But what about you, Miss?" one of them asked. 

"I can't leave Jack there alone," she told them, "you know that".

"We could help," one of the older ones offered.

"No," she stared them down, "You really can't."

If they lived through this, she'd try to send Romanoff here to help them train, seeing as immunity to biotics was starting to be a thing. A very annoying thing. 

Jack was dodging bullets in the main room. She could knock about half of them out of the air, but the other half were lodging themselves in various parts of the wall. What exactly was dodging going to do?

"Hey Eva," Miranda called, "I'm over here". 

Eva turned and shot and Miranda dodged. Ok. She was beginning to understand the dodging. But, if she could just keep Eva's focus a little longer…

She grabbed her gun and shot back. Eva dodged and came running at her, gun raised. 

Jack lunged at her from behind and tackled her from behind. It wasn't graceful…

It was one pawn of Cerberus pitted against another for survival. Brutal. 

No time to think about that now. Miranda held her pistol to Eva's head, "I can't let you go running back to the Illusive Man".

Eva stopped struggling and Jack fell back slightly, still gripping Eva's hands behind her back. 

And then Eva turned towards her, her face streaked with tears, "Just. Kill. Me. Miri."

"You know I can't do that," Miranda crouched to look her in the eye. They were killing their own and she was terrified. 

"I'm a monster," Eva gritted out, "he wants me to just keep becoming different things, trying on different clothes, being anyone but me, he…he changed my name…I can't…do this anymore".

Miranda felt a flash of anger and fear. If the Illusive Man had named Eva…there was no hope. At least, there hadn't been hope for Miranda. She'd walked into Cerberus as Erica and come out as Miranda. But maybe Eva was stronger?

"Become someone else then," Miranda suggested, "someone the Illusive Man can't hide".

Eva shook her head, "I can't do that".

A shot rang through the air and Eva stilled, red blossoming from her shoulder.

Miranda looked up at Jack in anger, "She was one of mine".

"What the hell does that mean?" Jack stared at her, "she tried to kill you".

"I found her abandoned in a dumpster in Moscow," Miranda started closing off her emotions one by one, piece by piece. She didn't cry, she didn't have emotions. It was pointless. "I brought her to Cipritine".

"You're trans," Jack stated matter-of-factly, crouching down next to her, "a bullet in the shoulder won't kill her, just buy us some time, you know."

Yes. Logic. Strategy.

"The price is too high," she muttered, staring at Eva's still body, "Shepard better win this because the price is too damn high".


	20. Vancouver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics in quotations are also recorded. Basically, context and logic.
> 
> I'm pretty sure Carol's just picking names to piss off Clint at this point…

Prison was boring. 

All Shepard really had was books, and they were wearing thin. It was hard to focus on someone else's Great Adventure when she knew it was only a matter of time before the galaxy's own Great Adventure, except in the form of a Nightmare, stopped by (the actual nightmares she had didn't help the matter). 

Sometimes she watched the news, but that was boring too - a couple of reaper sightings near Omega, all taken care of by a secret entity, Councillor Anderson steps down from politics, promoted to admiral in the Alliance, Ambassador Udina elected to the Council, Migrant Fleet asks for stronger protections for young quarians on pilgrimage after one was found with her suit open in the wards (C-sec still not ready to rule it as a hate crime, or even murder), basically, the world was shit, but couldn't do anything about it.

She had done her part. 

"Hey, Commander, you're going to want to look at this," her guard poked his head through her door.

"I'm not a commander anymore, Vega," she told him sourly. Just bored. And useless. 

He ignored her and walked over to show her his omnitool.

"You're probably not supposed to see this," he told her, "but I won't tell, if you won't tell".

"You really don't want me to be a commander, because I'd report you for disobeying orders," she smiled as he brought up a video. She liked James Vega. He was a good soldier, but relaxed about it, able to break rules and have fun if he had to. 

"Just watch the video," he held up his omnitool a bit so she could see.

It was one of Emily's reports.

_"Six weeks ago today, I told you the story of Commander Shepard's difficult past, from rejection by her family to being boxed to joining the Alliance. Since then, the Commander's identity as trans has rocked both the human and galactic communities as we come together to revisit the Binary Legalities and the history of the Purge. Is it possible that such a prominent figure, the first human spectre who defeated Saren Arterius on the Citadel just a few years ago, is the sick deviant that written human records will make us believe? It has been said time and time again that Commander Shepard is an ideal model of humanity, so what does this say about the state of humanity?_

_As I have followed, and reported on this story, a number of missing pieces have become clear to me. Most importantly, Commander Shepard appears to be acting alone. For all we know, she is the only trans person still in existence today. The existence of a single box for humans does not, in fact, mean that any other human has used it. This leaves it too easy for the Alliance to treat this as an exception, one single person to sweep out of sight._

_Arresting the commander for terrorist activities was a simple way to avoid a fact that has been getting more and more obvious since the Purge - us trans people will continue to exist whether or not they are legal._

_Yes, I said 'us'. I, too, was rejected from my family and grew up here, on the Citadel. I was a duct rat. I was boxed when I was 13 and managed to pass the proper exams that allowed me to get a university education and become a reporter. Commander Shepard's choice, to become visible, to refuse the Binary Legalities and the secrecy it enforces, did a lot more than provoke discussions, it was a message to the trans humans that exist. We are not alone._

_I only found that out seven weeks ago sitting across the table from Commander Shepard, fearing for her life._

_The proof remains, the mass murder of trans people does not remove transness. Commander Shepard is proof, I am proof, there are many others, living in fear and secrecy, that are proof._

_I am well aware that the very act of saying this condemns me to death. But I hope that the Alliance looks at this proof first and reconsiders. I hope that every trans person watching this knows they are not alone, they are not sick, they are not illegal. And I hope to live to see the day when Commander Shepard is released from custody, not because she didn't participate in terrorist activity, but because that thin veil of an excuse must be quite embarrassing for the Alliance."_

"She still calls you Commander," James stood up. 

Good old Emily. 

"Has there been any news about what they're doing to her?"

"The news station kicked her out," he shrugged, and glanced at his omnitool, "she started a blog".

She would do that. Emily Wong. Her stubbornness and commitment alone could rid the galaxy of reapers. 

"I'm rooting for you, you know that right, Commander?" he stood straighter, "too much damn bullshit in this galaxy".

"You can root for me all you like," Shepard smiled at him, "it still won't make me a commander".

"Just give me a few days, I'm working on it," he teased and opened the door. 

He was a terrible guard. She really didn't mind. 

***

Shepard was trying (and failing) to read Jane Eyre when James showed her the next video. 

It was a poor quality thing taken on an omnitool and uploaded to ExtraVid. 

She recognized the person immediately - they were the shy quiet bartender from Omega. She remembered showing them around the commune, the way their eyes had lit up the first time someone offered them a pronoun other than "she", their insistence on sending them "earth seeds, Palaven plants will not do any good for human health". 

She'd asked them why they were a bartender and they'd shrugged, "I just like the hear people's stories, you know". And they had sat with everyone in the commune for hours listening to their stories, pouring over Isu's old history records (Shepard missed Isu, even though she'd only met them once, everyone missed Isu). 

"You know her?" James asked.

"Yeah," Shepard nodded, and didn't correct the pronoun. She didn't know him that well yet.

Their voice was quiet, the video was short.

_"I, um, saw Emily Wong's report, as we all have by now, and I just wanted to add my two cents. I was boxed pretty late in life, and I was boxed twice because the first time was confusing…and that doesn't really matter now. What matters is that, because of the Binary Legalities, everyone thinks I'm a woman, and I'm not. And it sucks, but it's better than dying, so I do it. But I've been thinking, and the thing is, there really are a bunch of us. And maybe if people could put a face to a name, they'd be a little less hostile about it. I'm a bartender. The person serving your drinks might be trans, the person driving your shuttle might be trans, it's not just fancy news reporters and First Human Spectres, we're people, not some monster you read about in a history book."_

"You've started a trend, Commander," James smiled at her as he went back to his post.

Except it wasn't her that had started it, she was just the messenger. 

***

Anderson came to visit her after the sixth video, which was an Alliance Lieutenant.

"You're causing quite a stir, soldier," he grinned at her.

"Just following command, sir," she grinned back. 

"Not sure if that's what I meant," he shook his head, "what the hell am I going to do with you?"

"Give me something interesting to do?" 

"No," his face turned serious, "You did a lot of shit back there, Shepard, just because the politics are off doesn't mean you shouldn't be doing your time".

"You know as well as I do that I did what had to be done," she spent enough time questioning her choices, she didn't need Anderson to do that too. This was about the galaxy's survival, not right and wrong. 

"That doesn't make it right," Anderson sighed, "yeah, the galaxy needs someone who's willing to team up with a racist terrorist group to blow up a collector base, but that doesn't mean you get off without consequences. Shit Shepard, I trained you better than this".

"Wish you never took me out for dinner then, sir?" Wish he'd left her in a hovel in Brixton to die from starvation or hypothermia? 

"You were the best gamble I've ever made in my life," he informed her, "do your time for what it really is. Not for the bullshit. Prove me right."

"That's all I am?" her throat tightened, "a gamble?"

"No Jen," his voice hitched, "you're so much more than that".

"Then why are you letting me waste away here when I could actually be doing something?" she was so damn frustrated.

"The reapers are coming," he stared at her, "you'll be out of here soon enough, back to doing what has to be done. This might be the only break you get in a long time. You deserve it."  
"Fine," she sighed, "but I'm not going to repent for blowing up that base, it was wrong".

"Not expecting you too," his eyes twinkled, "you were always bad at following orders".

"Learned from the best," she saluted him. He nodded in response and left.

The problem with prison was that everyone was always leaving. Someone coming meant they would inevitably leave. 

***

Carter was the twelfth video. 

_There's a lot of reasons I really shouldn't put my face on the extranet. I'm a spy, I've worked in the turian underground, I've assumed so many identities I've lost count, and I'm boxed. For a long time, I tried to contact trans people and let them know the box existed. With all the secrecy and the invisibility and lies, it's difficult to communicate, to make the option available. I nearly died because of my work._

"She did die," Shepard told James and he looked at her in confusion and she shrugged, "it's complicated".

_I was lucky. I was boxed young and I was able to live among other trans people. I had some very good friends. I've watched these friends be murdered, kill themselves, lose their souls, lose their morality and their ethics, they become bitter, angry people, all because of the weight of the secrecy, and the knowledge that we are hated. Being trans is not a way to live, it's a way to die._

_I work in intelligence. My job is to keep you safe. I shouldn't have to die to keep myself safe._

_I'd also like to take this time to pass on information to any trans person who hasn't been boxed: the box is not for everyone, but, if you should so need it, I am willing to arrange that for you. Just go to Rudrick's Coffee and ask for, her lip quirked upwards slightly, Carol Danvers._

Shepard couldn't help but face palm.

"Is that a Marvel reference?" James spluttered.

"You don't even know the half of it," Shepard mumbled into her hand. But it made her feel a little bit more hopeful - the idiots were still up to their own tricks, finding their own meanings in words and names and story. There were superheroes watching out for the galaxy, more superhero-y than the originals (and definitely more of a hero than she could ever be).


	21. Tokyo Autist Colony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tokyo is the largest autist colony (note, it's still just a very small portion of Tokyo), almost 90% of communication is non-vocal and only about half of the people there are autistic while the rest are people who have found sanctuary there for one reason or another.
> 
> It's the only place where the asexual community meets outside of the extranet, but (seeing as the colony is very large), it doesn't mean the general population of the colony understands a thing about asexuality. 
> 
> (Also, fun fact, she doesn't actually show up, but a very certain Laura is currently living in the Tokyo colony too) 
> 
> Warnings for acephobia and arophobia

Clint gripped Natasha's hand the entire shuttle ride to earth so tightly she thought her hand might break.

She tried to remove it, at one point, to type a message to Peggy (who had been stupid, spies should not put their faces on the extranet, it was bad enough that the Shadow Broker knew their faces, even if she was a friend of Shepard's, and now, the entire galaxy...), but he gripped tighter.

"Please," he whispered, "I don't want to fly away".

She didn't really need all her fingers, right? 

He fell asleep on the train to Tokyo and she took the opportunity to try to wiggle some feeling back into her fingers and he unconsciously gripped tighter. Fuck.

They were almost there. And then she could see Gianna and Tod and sleep in a room that was completely dark and just…be. 

Why hadn't she visited in so long? She missed them. She missed being allowed to let her broken parts to show. She missed being allowed to be messy and confused and upset. 

She loved her job because she was always being or becoming someone else, but sometimes it was nice to just melt and be nothing, or whoever she was under the layers, if she was anyone. 

Right now, apparently, she was a human anchor. Damn cybernetic enhancement arms or whatever. She wasn't even sure if they were enhanced, he was just…strong. 

"I am going to get you back for this someday," she informed him as they left the train, and then steadied him as he nearly face planted. (Standing on unused, almost-gooped legs was probably painful, but he'd refused a wheelchair because he was an idiot). 

He just grinned at her. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

_I see you brought in a stray this time,_ Dr. Rick greeted her with a smile.

_I'm pretty sure you saw that before now,_ she tried to sign one handed. She'd booked the freaking appointment, hadn't she? 

He'd just smiled and gently forced Clint into a wheelchair (still gripping onto her hands, dammit) and ushered them into a back room. She tried to breath in the comfort of the silence and calm of the familiar place, but the vice grip on her hands kept pulling her back to tension, it was a good sign that her hand wasn't completely numb yet, right?

_Natasha, I'd prefer for this to be a private consultation,_ Dr. Rick stopped her at the door. She looked pointedly at Clint's hand and Rick nodded knowingly. 

_Clint, you're here now,_ he signed, _you need to trust us._

Clint's eyes narrowed and Natasha could imagine the war in his head - talk and be a neurotypical nuisance? Let go of her hand to sign and risk losing himself? Not say anything?

"I'd love to continue annoying you," Natasha spoke directly in his ear, "but it will be more effective when I get feeling back in my hand". 

He stared at her. (Don't leave me alone in this strange place.)

"You're not alone, here," she told him, "I promise. And I'll be back. Don't worry about that".

She felt like she'd committed her entire life, in a way, bringing him to her most private home. Why had she done this? (Because other people deserved the same chance and the same care she had). 

Very slowly, his grip loosened. She tried not to feel disappointed. 

***

_Word is that you brought a man back with you,_ Gianna teased as Natasha walked through the door.

_Kind of,_ Natasha shrugged. It wasn't exactly not true. It just…wasn't like that. 

_We don't get to meet him?_ Tod asked.

_Tomorrow,_ she promised, _he's really here for care._

Oh hell. What was she doing? Introducing Gianna and Tod to Clint.

_Do you work together? What's the connection?_ Gianna had been born in the colony. While she refused to even consider leaving, she always wanted the stories about the outside, the rest of the world.

What even was the connection? Natasha had stopped trying to figure that one out a long time ago. Clint didn't kill her. And then that happened again. And then she'd accidentally ended up on a surprise mission and saved him. And then she hadn't killed him. And then she'd visited him a lot and he'd grown dependent and now she was bringing him to the colony so he could grow more dependent on people that weren't her and she still felt a bit disappointed about that.

_It's complicated,_ she decided, _we've worked for the same people at different times and together for different people. Paths just kept crossing._

_You brought him here though?_ Tod was concerned, he was always concerned.

This would be so much easier if they read galactic news. But no, outside news was unimportant in the colony, apparently. (She really hoped the reapers would be as accommodating as the Alliance). 

_Brainwashing,_ she had no idea how to explain indoctrination.

Gianna nodded and went back to her knitting and Natasha went up to her room. 

Her trio of figurines on the shelf over her bed glared at her as she entered the door: Black Widow, Agent Coulson, Hawkeye. She shoved them into a drawer. She couldn't even look at Hawkeye. Couldn't her teenage self have foreseen this situation when naming her pets?

No, she wasn't here because Clint was a manifestation of her teenage special interest that had been the target of the sexuality crisis that accompanied it. It had nothing to do with that. At all. Just a really weird coincidence. 

***

She left the colony with a promise from Gianna and Tod to look after Clint and that her bed would always be free for her to return.

It had been a nice three days of quiet and good food and the solid reminder that, yes, she was ok. And she was going to stay ok. 

And then she hit the outside and heard about three more reaper sightings.

And her new assignment was to track down someone who'd been finding and sending death threats to the trans people making videos. 

She almost wanted to crawl back to the colony for the rest of her life. 

Instead she decided to be as stupid as Peggy and make her own video:

_"I am cis,"_ she stared at the camera in Peggy's hand and took a breath, this was safe for her, _"the first time I knowingly met a trans person, I shot her. I was lucky enough that, instead of dying, she became my…friend."_

_"Now, I hear that my friend. My friends. are being threatened,"_ she could feel the bile in her throat, _"and I promise that I will hunt you down and shoot you. No one has the right to threaten another person's existence. And I will defend a person's right to exist to the death, friend or not"._

She fled into the bathroom and shut off the light and rocked, because that felt safer than what she had just done. She wanted to go back to her room in the colony with the stupid figurines and comics and Hawkeye and a poster of the real Black Widow because imagination was so much better than reality. 

"You all right, Nat?" Peggy called through the door.

"Yeah, fine," she called, "just need this for a bit".

They hadn't really talked about what it meant that she had ties to an autist colony thanks to the whirlwind decision making process. Peggy knew as well as anyone else that the colony didn't have just autistic people, but it was called an autist colony for a reason. 

Natasha hadn't told her she was autistic. But that didn't mean Peggy wasn't thinking it. 

And she didn't think Peggy would use it as an excuse to fuck her over, but any autistic person not in a colony had to run that risk. She did not want to be cured, or fixed, or treated, she didn't want Peggy eyeing her in pity because she was incapably rocking to herself in a dark bathroom.

There was nothing incapable about stimming. It was hard to remember that outside the colony. 

"Do you want me to post it, or do you want to wait?" Peggy asked.

"Post it," Natasha decided. She wanted it over with. She didn't want to take it back. She wanted her face blurred so that the next group she infiltrated wouldn't recognize her immediately.

It didn't matter, though, there was no name or identity attached to the face, and C-sec would protect her. C-sec was a good place to work. 

"Glad to know you think of me as a friend," she could hear Peggy chuckle, "thought you didn't have those".

"I have…a few," Natasha tried to figure. Gianna and Tod weren't friends. They were Gianna and Tod. But there was Jack and Peggy and…Clint? And Shepard might count. And maybe Lawson? 

That was a lot. She hadn't had any a year ago. 

***

It was Clint that greeted her when she let herself into Gianna's house the second time she visited the colony. 

_Hospital not good enough for you?_ It was strange to see him against the backdrop of the kitchen.

_Boring,_ he shrugged, _and the food isn't as good._

But that was a given, because Tod's special interests constantly related to food and cooking and Gianna's house was always full of good food as a consequence. Technically, they could go out and eat the food Tod cooked for the restaurant, but eating in was homier. 

She didn't need to point out that the last time she'd seen Clint, he'd been lost in his mind. They both knew it. She also knew that "better" wasn't a fixed finite point, or something someone else could know. It wasn't her problem. 

_Where's Gianna?_ She asked instead. 

He pointed towards the workroom. That made sense. She'd be out eventually. Natasha wandered up to her room. 

Hawkeye was in his tank, as always (and she tried not to think about the other Hawkeye down in the kitchen), she checked the calendar. Tod had fed him recently, good. She reached in to pick him up.

There was a slightly strangled noise at the door. Shit. She'd left it open.

She turned slowly to see Clint staring at her, _You have a snake?_

She smirked and approached him, Hawkeye wrapped around her neck, so she could free her hands.

_Guess that explains why they never let me in there,_ he backed up slightly.

Ok. Afraid of snakes. Able to risk entire body melting in an attempt to save people, but afraid of snakes. Interesting. 

_They never let you in here because it's my room,_ she informed him. Gianna and Tod were the only ones allowed in her space, and only to take care of Hawkeye when she was gone (which was, admittedly, always). 

He watched warily as the snake wove around her body. The pressure felt nice, the reminder that she was home. Home. Safe.

Why did she still feel that way with Clint staring at her in her hall? He wasn't part of this world. At least, he shouldn't be. 

She turned and shut the door. Friends were nice, but her worlds, her identities were moshing together instead of following clearly drawn trajectories. She stared at the Black Widow poster on the wall. What would she have done?

Natalia Alianova Romanova, Natasha Romanoff, codename Black Widow was a superhuman, a superhero. No matter how much she struggled, this Natasha would having nothing but the name. She could never be as good as the original.

Hawkeye shifted in her arms. Oh yeah, she did have a superpower. She was immune to biotics. Which was completely useless, considering that reapers didn't do biotics. 

At least she had a snake. Black Widow hadn't had that. 

***

Dinner was awkward.

Natasha had the distinct impression that Gianna was under the illusion that she and Clint were dating. And thought that Clint had changed his name to match hers, which was the kind of romantic crap she'd think up. And the conversation went on and on and on. 

At one point , Tod interrupted Gianna with a brief head shake and Natasha realized that Gianna had been about to ask about the sex. She could feel herself blushing and forced it to stop.

She was not supposed to feel uncomfortable here. This was her home.

Except, no matter how many times she tried, no matter how many people in the fucking colony shared her experiences, Gianna would never quite catch on to the fact that asexual aromantic meant "does not do relationships the way you do".

In Gianna's mind, it was just a different perspective on the same experience. 

Tod, of course, had understood. But he had been with Gianna for forty years, he was stuck as a hopeless romantic no matter how much he understood that other people weren't. 

The only way she was surviving this was that Clint looked ten times more uncomfortable than she did. 

_But how did you meet?_ Gianna kept pushing, _you spy types, it must have been romantic._

_I don't do romance,_ Natasha was done with the conversation, _I've told you that before._

_Before, you didn't have a boyfriend,_ Gianna insisted, _why's it so embarrassing? It's only natural that you'd find someone someday._

Natasha felt her stomach clench. 

She stood up and broke their silence. 

"No, I will not find someone someday, I'm not your rescue kitten headed towards great romantic things, I am asexual and aromantic and I'd appreciate it if you'd stop treating it as unimportant or some kind of failing that I'll eventually get over".

She slammed the door behind her to prove a point.

***

Tod found her hidden in her tree. She'd found it soon after coming to the colony, a tree with a perfect Natasha-sized hole where she could look out on the world and no one else could look it. A place where she could melt away and stop being a person. The galaxy needed more trees.

He sat across from her peephole, blocking the view. She could tell him to go away, but that would require talking and informing him that she was there, that she existed. 

_I know you're in there,_ he signed, _so I'm just going to say this and hope you decide to watch._

Fine. She'd watch. She wouldn't respond though.

_Gianna was out of line, she knows that, she'll do better,_ Tod continued, _I'm sorry I didn't stop her sooner. I guess…I liked her story. Last time you were here was the first time I saw you happy stim._

Really? What even were her happy stims? She stimmed when she felt like stimming, that was all. 

_I want you to be happy, Natasha, and he makes you happy, he was still brainwashed then. I don't care how you do it, romance seems off the table, but just…I don't want you to throw away a chance at happiness because it's not Gianna's and my version of happiness._

Happiness wasn't really a word in Natasha's life. Or a goal. Or anything really. It was something that other people got. She just survived. 

Why did Tod care so much? Why did any of them care so much? She'd shown up at their door half starving and sleep deprived, eaten their food, taken their resources, given nothing back, and then left because it was boring. They should hate and resent her, not want her happiness. 

He just got up and left and Natasha squeezed herself into a tighter ball and curled into the tree. She didn't have to be Natasha until she wanted to.


	22. Passing Notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, a title that isn't the starting location! Have fun having no idea where you are because I decided to get creative :P
> 
> And now for the fun chapter that was a good idea in theory and not in practice because I am TERRIBLE at all forms of formatting. Apologies for my not so exciting methods of presenting this. 
> 
> Warning for suicidal thoughts, internalized ableism

Clint tried to excuse himself for being a crap person by telling himself he'd been slipping down a brain slope just a few weeks earlier. It wasn't a bad justification, considering he was still just sitting on a narrow ledge over the slope, but he still had a feeling he could be doing a lot more than the nothing he was doing. 

Ok. He had no excuse. He should have shut down Gianna's questions instead of avoiding them (hoping they'd go away). He should have been more explicit in his not-interest. (Except he was interested, and that was the problem, right after he'd finally figured out he was aromantic, he went and got his first romantic attraction, to the worst possible someone). 

It was just one more mark against him. Murdering undocumented civilians, leaving the person who'd fucking saved him in an uncomfortable situation with someone who was basically her family, getting romantically attracted to her. Maybe Miranda should have actually shot him. 

He knew he wasn't supposed to think like that, but it was hard not to. 

Tod said he'd talked to her and that she was fine and that it would be best not to worry, but it was also hard not to. 

He lay in his bed and stared at the ceiling and wondered how Gianna, a woman who had managed to work around every single one of his paralyzing fears, was still capable of stepping into such a giant mistake. She'd known Natasha much longer than him. Shouldn't she know better?

Something shook and he sat up. Someone was breaking into the house. Damn. He didn't have a gun here. (He hadn't had a gun in a long time. He wasn't sure if he trusted himself with one. But still, it would be useful in circumstances like this). 

He opened his door a crack and relaxed. Just Natasha. She turned and saw him (maybe the door had creaked?), shit, now he felt like a stalker, too. 

_You should be asleep,_ she told him.

_You too,_ he shrugged, _you all right?_

_Are you?_ She countered.

Fair enough. 

They stood awkwardly in the hallway, staring at each other. What was her deal? Why had she put so much into helping him? Who even was she? He had thought she was starting to make sense, but every time he felt like he got a read, she'd turn around and become someone else.

Except he totally had a read on her sexuality and it was very much Not Him.

And he had no idea what his sexuality or romantic…ness was, so it was a bit of a mess to begin with. 

What was she thinking? Why was she still standing there staring at him? Why did she care?

_Why didn't you kill me?_ She broke the awkwardness first. He wished she hadn't. It wasn't a question he could really answer. 

_Saw the name and figured punishment detail was worth the romantic irony._

She rolled her eyes and waited. 

Oh fine. He'd attempt an actual answer. 

_They lied to me to get me to do the job,_ he explained, _when it became clear you definitely weren't an arms dealer that had cheated them out of a lot of deals, follow through was a lot less important._

The surface answer. The one he'd given Renata and Miranda and anyone who asked. 

The real answer? He didn't know. They'd lied to him before - he'd killed more innocent people for Cerberus than he had as a reaper. Just not this one person. 

Maybe he'd known she'd be the one to save him in the collector base. Though that was a little too superstitious for him.

She seemed to accept the answer though and his mind started floating towards other mysteries. 

_What brought me back?_ He had wondered a lot, but never actually had the guts to ask, _what made the reaper go away?_

(What gave him a second chance when no one else who was indoctrinated got one?)

_Samara,_ her eyebrows went down as if she was going to ask a question and then back up, _apparently knew your mind patterns and was able to detach it. Epic mind battle._

_I'll have to thank her,_ he knew he should feel odd about an epic battle happening in his brain. But it was better than the alternative. Wasn't it? 

_Sleep well,_ she turned and opened the door to her room.

_You too,_ he went back in his room and opened up his omnitool. 

Maybe the extranet could help him be a slightly less crap person. 

***

_**This is rong…sory  
cool --> **Queer Platonic Relationship Form _

_Hello friend! **This form is intended to be a polite suggestion about our current relationship:**_

_**Currently we are this close physically (scale of 1-10): **0, ~~except when I'm messed~~**** _

_****I'd like us to be THIS close in the future (scale of 1-10): **more than 0 ~~when not messed~~**** ** _

__******I'd like us to do these things (underlined) or not do these things (crossed out):  
 ~~Have sex~~  
Eat together **…**  
Nap together **??**  
Small kisses **???**  
Hugs **??**  
BIG kisses **BIG???**  
Hold hands **?  
Celebrate anniversary **of what?**  
Go out together **if it helps?  
Kill reepers  
Confuse people   
Tod's food  
Save dogs **********

_**********I'd like to call you my ** ~~person that didn't kill me~~ ~~Black Widow~~ Nat?   
I'd like you to call me your **~~person that didn't kill you~~ ~~Hawkeye~~ Clint? ****** ** ** ** ** _

_**************~~Please mark and return to me or MESSAGE/CALL/TALK to me.~~ **Do what ever the fuk you want.**** ** ** ** ** ** ** _

***

In the end, he gave up. No matter how many charts he looked at and words he read, none of it actually made any sense as soon as he tried to apply to whatever the fuck was going on in his head to the diagrams. 

There was no Them. They were just two people that got along some of the time and didn't kill each other and helped each other out. Or well, Natasha helped him out and he sat and watched ineffectively without comment when she needed help. 

He crumpled the piece of paper into a ball and threw it into the trash (the colony used paper a lot more than data pads, it was nice, but had taken some getting used to). 

He needed sleep. Sleep and then coffee and then maybe everything else would sort itself out while he was busy not fucking it up.

***

_Queer Platonic Relationship Form_

_Hello friend! **This form is intended to be a polite suggestion about our current relationship:**_

_**Currently we are this close physically (scale of 1-10): **2  
I'd like us to be THIS close in the future (scale of 1-10): **2-4? **********_

__**************I'd like us to do these things (underlined) or not do these things (crossed out):  
 ~~Have sex~~  
Eat together   
Nap together   
Small kisses   
Hugs   
BIG kisses   
**I really don't know about any of all this.**  
Hold hands **?  
Celebrate anniversary of you not shooting me?  
Go out together **last time I was tranqued and held hostage**  
Kill reapers  
Be spies  
Tod's cooking Save SNAKES** **

_**********I'd like to call you my **person that didn't kill me**  
I'd like you to call me your **person that survived your death grip of doom**** ** ** ** ** _

_**********~~Please mark and return to me or MESSAGE/CALL/TALK to me.~~ **I don't know.** ** ** ** ** ** _

***

_**#2**  
Queer Platonic Relationship Form_

_Hello friend! **This form is intended to be a polite suggestion about our current relationship:**_

_**Currently we are this close physically (scale of 1-10): **1**  
I'd like us to be THIS close in the future (scale of 1-10): **2-4**** _

__**I'd like us to do these things (underlined) or not do these things (crossed out):  
 ~~Have sex~~ **  
Eat together  
Nap together   
Small kisses   
Hugs   
BIG kisses   
**Normal person stuff - don't know**  
Hold hands **I can brake your hand this time**  
Celebrate anniversary **of riting stupid notes becos I'm a idiot**  
Go out together **ok, danger, no****  
Kill reapers yay!  
 ~~Cofee~~ Coffee  
Eating  
Save DOGS**

_****I'd like to call you ~~my~~ **person that helpd**   
I'd like you to call me your **person?**** ** _

_****~~Please mark and return to me or MESSAGE/CALL/TALK to me.~~ **Do this again? Aparently?** ** ** _

***

_**I have to leave tomorrow. See you at breakfast?** _

_Queer Platonic Relationship Form_

_Hello friend! This form is intended to be a polite suggestion about our current relationship:_

_Currently we are this close physically (scale of 1-10): **1**  
I'd like us to be THIS close in the future (scale of 1-10): **2-4, this isn't going to happen if we keep avoiding each other**_

_I'd like us to do these things (underlined) or not do these things (crossed out):_  
 ~~Have sex~~ **  
Eat together  
Nap together   
Small kisses   
Hugs   
BIG kisses   
**this is confusing.**   
Hold hands **no hand holding**  
 ~~Celebrate anniversary~~ **too many options, how about new years eve or something?**   
~~Go out together~~ **Not kidnap me?**  
Kill reapers, drink coffee, eat food, and save dogs AND snakes**

_****I'd like to call you my **Clint  
I'd like you to call me your **Natasha****** ** _

_******Please mark and return to me or MESSAGE/CALL/TALK to me. **Stay in touch?**** ** ** _

_********Take care of yourself.********_

***

He (barely) made it downstairs for breakfast. Tod shoved eggs under his nose and Natasha replaced it with coffee. Clever. She was clearly trying to get on his good side (she'd gone through his trash while he was sleeping, she owed him). 

He didn't bother paying attention to the conversation - something about some hat Gianna was making for Natasha and some book Tod was reading and when was the next time Natasha was coming back? 

Natasha left with a cheery wave through the door and he waved awkwardly back and went back upstairs. 

The stupid forms were still sitting on his desk where he'd left them all last night. He gathered them up and shoved them into a drawer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The queer platonic relationship form is adapted from [ this amazing blog's creation ](http://qpadvice.tumblr.com/post/98302305387/hello-recently-i-was-surprised-by-the-amount-of)


	23. Taetrus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And halfway point reached. Oof. 
> 
> Warnings for self-destructive behavior and a meltdown

Three days was all it took for Captain Bailey to shoot Executor Pallin and become C-sec commander. 

Three days while Natasha was on Earth, C-sec went from safe to dangerous. And a man who had broken almost every single one of his principles to welcome her, and later Peggy, was dead.

Because even if Pallin had hated people who didn't follow principle to the letter, he had been able to recognize she'd help him hold to the rules better than not having her. He'd welcomed her, supported her, and let her figure out the rest of her crap. 

And now the man that had shot him was her boss. 

"Might be time to do something else," Peggy commented quietly, "I can't trust Bailey to protect me. He said he would when we met but still…he's human, he has the Alliance breathing down his back".

"He shot Pallin," Natasha was still stuck on that point. She couldn't trust Bailey. Not even when he called her into his office and apologized and promised that her work was not at all in jeopardy. Not even when he admitted to her point blank that he'd rather Pallin be sitting in his chair. 

Nothing could bring the executor back to life.

She was beginning to understand why Clint had been so angry about Peggy's not-death. 

Pallin hadn't had access to a ridiculous scientist with too much time on their hands. Pallin wasn't bullet proof. Pallin hadn't even chosen death, it had been forced on him by some idiot human on a power trip. It wasn't the same thing. 

They stayed on for one job - proving Pallin's innocence. It was obvious, really, a few quick traces, tracking down a couple sources, didn't even take any combat. Bailey cleared Pallin's name, but it was too late for that to have any meaning. 

Peggy resigned first and moved to Illium (moving in with that quarian, Anji, apparently), she didn't tell Natasha what her plans were, though Natasha had a feeling it had something to do with the growing trans movement (movement, not just tiny community), or maybe she was taking the Shadow Broker up on the job offer. Natasha didn't pry. 

Natasha stayed for a little while, keeping tabs on Aria, simply because she wasn't a safe person to have visiting the Citadel. Ever. 

She wasn't sure what her options were. She could go back to the colony. Gianna and Tod would always welcome her and, as far as she knew, Clint was there (but she was trying not to think about Clint and the crumpled pieces of paper she'd left on his desk because it was confusing and she cared about him and she'd told him that and she didn't know what to do with that at all), it would be nice. 

But she left the colony for a reason and she kept leaving the colony for a reason - she hadn't grown up there. She'd been tortured and abused and then made her own way on the outside. No diagnosis. No accommodations. No value but survival. No matter how nice the accommodations and safeness that happened in the colony were, she always felt uneasy, like it was too good to be true. It was someone else's life that opened up for her when she needed it, but she belonged somewhere else. 

And she couldn't really think of another option. 

And then Taetrus went dark. 

Natasha handed in her resignation the next day and flew to Palaven. 

***

"Send me to Taetrus".

A whole bunch of stuck up turian commanders looked at Natasha as if she had grown an extra head. Or something. She wasn't sure if that expression even worked for turians.

None of them asked why she was in their war council room, either they were incredibly stupid or very distracted.

"We can't send anyone there, for all we know, it's a war zone".

"And why would we trust a human with that anyways?"

"You'd trust a human because it is most likely a war zone and you can't afford any more of your own," she informed them. She hadn't spent her life working with turians for nothing.

"Why do you care?"

"We all know, but we just won't say it," a new, familiar voice came from the back, "same reason I'm here".

"Vakarian," the officer sounded pained, "you are here as a specialist consultant and member of the hierarchy, this is a human that dropped out of the sky".

"Vent," Natasha corrected. "Ceiling" was probably the word he was looking for. 

"Vent," the officer sighed.

"Well, let me do some specialist consulting then," Garrus finally stood up and she could see him, "this is probably the best spy in the galaxy, she hates humans and knows turians, and if she says she's going to Taetrus, she probably doesn't need your permission and is only here to politely offer you the benefits of her journey, she also has some experience with reapers".

"We're still not sure if that's what's behind this," another officer commented.

Seriously?

"Yes, we are," Garrus countered, "why else would I be here, I'm so far down the hierarchy, I'd have to join the underground to get any power".

Natasha couldn't help but smile. He was good.

"A human just shot executor Pallin," another turian voiced, "we're not about to go trusting her with any delicate information".

"I worked for Pallin," Natasha had to defend this one, "I was on Earth, if there was anything I could have done to save him, I would have".

"Not a strong story," the officer shrugged.

"Let her go," Garrus stared him down, "I take full responsibility".

"Fine," the officer that seemed to be in charge, "but don't expect a rescue mission if things go south".

"There won't be any need," Natasha answered coldly.

***

Garrus accompanied her to the ship.

"Sure you don't want back-up?" he worried, "I could come along?"

Natasha shook her head, "just going to look around, get the information needed for them to send in proper rescue operations, I'll be fine."

"Like hell you will," Garrus countered, "solo missions are dangerous, even for you".

"I'm used to it," Natasha shrugged, "they seem to need you here".

"It's not like they listen," he flapped his mandibles in annoyance, "what's the point of helping out if they still can't even say the word reaper?"

Honestly, Natasha agreed. They were all idiots.

"Because someone has to save the galaxy from itself," she moved towards the air lock, "I'll radio in every hour, don't worry".

"I always worry".

"I'm not Shepard".

"Yeah, you're even stupider".

Maybe that's why she was doing this. You had to be really stupid to do what had to be done sometimes.

***

Natasha stared at the wasteland in front of her. Shit.

"Vakarian, you're not going to like this," she murmured into the com, crouching under a rock in hopes that the reapers wouldn't see her.

"You still have to tell me," his voice came back moments later.

"Reapers".

"That's not very new information".

"I don't think anyone's left," she wished she could say anything but that, "scanners aren't picking up signs of life, everything's burnt and abandoned, it's..."

She couldn't find a proper adjective. Eerie? Something stronger.

"Goes to show how much obeying the rules will be the death of turians," the joke was forced.

"I should join the underground," she was only half joking. Peggy definitely spoke highly of her work with them. 

She peeked out at the reaper in the sky. Was there any way she could get back to her ship without being spotted? Probably not.

"I'm going to have to make a run for it," she decided, "if...um...something happens..."

Then what? She'd be dead, that was all.

"We could come in and extract you." 

"And risk troops you're going to need on Palaven?" she hissed, "don't be an idiot".

"There's a lot of people who would never forgive me if I let you die".

"You don't know me well enough if you think I'm going to die," she muttered and broke contact before he could remind her of things that might make her take him up on the offer. 

She made it about ten yards before the reaper started shooting. It wasn't possible to outrun a reaper, was it? She'd have to try, she pushed herself to go faster. 

She was nearly at the ship when a bolt struck the back of her leg. No time to think about the pain, she rammed herself into the seat and started the engine, pushing it to maximum speed. 

Fuck. It felt like her leg was burning off. She swerved as another bolt threatened to hit the ship and another, forcing the engine past its limit.

And then suddenly everything was quiet.

"Made it out of orbit," she gasped at Garrus and passed out.

***

"Dammit Romanoff, talk to me,"

Garrus' voice was the first thing she heard. She tried to assess the situation. Her leg burned, but nothing else was damaged, only out of place sound was Garrus, she was in a ship.

Shit, she was in a ship, that hadn't stopped. Her eyes flew open and she adjusted course. She wasn't that far away from Taetrus, good, she hadn't been out for too long. 

"Don't worry Garrus, I'm alive," she muttered and set about applying medigel to her leg. What even were in those reaper beams? Would medigel work? 

His sigh of relief was very loud. 

"Glad to hear it," he paused, "you're not going to like the news though".

"More reapers?" Natasha reset her course for Palaven.

"Earth," was the response, "what's Japan?"

Talk about déja-vu.

"Hiroshima?" she knew it was in poor taste, but there was no one else to hear her and Garrus wouldn't get it.

"Tokyo?" he said the word slowly.

Shit.

"How many dead?" she kicked herself for asking, making it real. 

"Don't know," he responded, "they evacuated about two hundred to the citadel".

200 was less than an eight of the colony. And the likelihood of any of them being refugees was so unlikely. They'd cut off so much from the outside, they'd been incapable of imagining an attack, anything that could harm them.

And now they were all dead. 

No. She couldn't believe that.

"I need to go," she decided, "you have the data?"

"Yeah thanks," Garrus was quiet, "and Nat?"

"What?"

"I hope I get to see you again".

"Me too," she sighed. But the war had started. Nothing was certain anymore. Not even Tokyo. 

***

Gianna Kao  
Tod Nerik  
Clinton Barton

They weren't on the refugee list.

And damn, her leg hurt, walking was getting impossible.

Natasha gritted her teeth and pushed herself the last few steps to her apartment. She'd sit down long enough to figure out a way to Tokyo to make sure the records were accurate. She was definitely not going to sleep, or shake or cry.

She opened the door, and stopped short.

Her room was filled with a giant glass tank...and Clint was lying on the couch staring at her. She grabbed onto the door frame and forced herself upright

_You sure know how to make an entrance,_ he commented, _where the fuck have you been?_

"Reapers," Natasha managed, "you aren't on any of the lists". She felt bad not signing, but if she let go of the wall…

He shrugged and sat up, "couldn't convince any of the evacuation ships there was space for a snake, had to call in a few favors, fell off the record, really nice woman helped me evacuate a couple of corpses."

"Did...?" she couldn't help the hope. Gianna. Tod. They had to be…

He shook his head. 

She was shaking and overloaded and about to fall over and she couldn't figure out the solution, her brain couldn't put the pieces together in her head. 

And then Clint hugged her, or maybe he was catching her from falling, but whatever it was, there was one single steady thing while nothing else made logic.

"How can I help?" his voice was quiet, even right next to her ear.

She had no fucking clue. 

"What do you need?" he tried.

She had an automatic answer for that, "dark, quiet, rocking," she gasped out, refusing to think about the last person that had asked her those words. 

Except she couldn't help herself. Gianna couldn't be dead. She was in Tokyo, there were no reapers, this was all just a bad dream and she'd wake up soon in her bed to go eat Tod's breakfast.

Except they were dead. And her leg hurt and she didn't know how to react. And the only thing holding her together was another person. Which was unacceptable. She couldn't rely on other people. They died. 

She pushed him away and rushed into the bathroom and shut off the light and rocked.

***

Eventually her head cleared enough that she was able to take a proper inventory of what was going on. The dark made her head lighter, more directed, focused. 

The reapers were here. The autist colony was gone. Clint was here. Gianna and Tod were dead.

Her leg had been hit by a reaper beam and had gone numb. She applied more medigel, and tried not to think about the fact that she'd probably have to visit a doctor about it soon. She hated doctors. 

Clint had also said something about a snake. Had he somehow or other managed to save Hawkeye? She'd have to thank him for that. Eventually. Maybe not now. 

Now, she had to leave the bathroom and convince him that she wasn't an absolute wreck and then figure out what was happening with the reapers (and the best way to kill them).

She grabbed onto the sink and pulled herself to stand and half-limped, half-hopped her way out of the bathroom.

He looked up from the couch, _You all right?_

She shrugged, she was never fully all right, but this would do.

She managed to get herself to the couch and curled up next to him. His solidity was comforting (and yet, she knew that, internally, he really wasn't that solid, they could be solid for each other, or something sappy like that).

He shifted slightly and wrapped his arm around her. And then took it back. 

_What the fuck have you been up to?_ he glanced down at her leg.

_Tried to outrun a reaper,_ she informed him.

_Did it work?_

_I'm alive, aren't I?_

_Barely,_ he kept eyeing her carefully, _your sense of self-preservation is nonexistent._

_Says the person that got his first set of arms melted off,_ she countered.

His arm wrapped around her again and squeezed and she curled more into his side. It was new how close they were. Physically.

"It's like that stupid form," she mumbled, and then realized he might not have heard, she lifted her hands to sign but he stopped them.

"Definitely a six," he told her, "ok with that?".

"Right now, yeah," she figured she could worry about the numbers later and let herself fall asleep.


	24. Return to the Citadel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!! look at the exciting chapter title.
> 
> Also, AO3 keeps on insisting this is an endless fic, but I promise you, no matter what it says, there are 44 chapters. We are at chapter 24 of 44. There is an end to this madness. There's just a reaper war first.

Shepard hadn't really thought too hard about her feelings concerning the Citadel, but, arriving back there after sixth months on Earth was like learning how to breathe again. The real center of galactic structure, not some room on the planet that anthrocentric humans liked to call the center of the galaxy. 

She was Alliance, but she was also a spectre. She'd almost forgotten that.

"Good to be back in the sky, commander?" Vega read her mind.

She nodded, "back to my old tricks".

"Hope they're a little different this time," he smiled, "don't want you to get arrested again".

"I'm pretty sure I'm still under arrest the first time," she informed him.

"Oh well," he shrugged, "hopefully the reapers will destroy the prison first".

Shepard didn't like thinking about after. The fact was she had lived her entire life at war, in one way or another, and she'd slipped into more and more instead of gently leaving the concept of war as she grew older.

She was scared of a world after war. She felt selfish.

It was a small group that greeted her in Huerta's waiting room, almost as if they'd been expecting her (but none of them had fought with Ashley, so it was definitely a coincidence).

Thane was sitting, back straight, facing the window, Natasha next to him looking angry and Clint was crouching with his back to the window facing her.

"I was wondering the next time I'd see her," Liara remarked.

"Who? Williams?" Shepard tried to make the links.

"Romanoff," Liara motioned towards the group, "she gave me a good chase a few months ago, managed to get my location even".

"They do say she's the best spy out there," Shepard replied, "you're just an information broker".

"Just doesn't cover it," Liara countered, "the other two are also yours, right? Thane Krios and I have no idea what his actual name is, James?"

"Buchanan?" Shepard didn't know that alias, but it wasn't hard to figure out.

"That's the right one?" Liara sounded surprised, "it was either that or Samuel, the other names were too ridiculous".

"Actually, we normally call him Clint," Shepard smirked, "Clint Barton, you can come say hello if you'd like".

"Wait," James finally caught on to their conversation, "is that the Avengers Clint Barton?"

Oh yeah. Somehow or other he knew about Marvel. She kept forgetting that. 

"And Natasha Romanoff," Shepard couldn't hide her smirk, "come on".

"Aren't we here to see Ashley?" Liara held back as they made their way over to the window.

"I can visit other people while I'm at it, can't I?" Shepard called back at her, she sighed and followed hesitantly.

She knew Clint had noticed them the moment they had walked through the door, that was his thing, but he didn't actually acknowledge them until they started approaching.

"Heard your punishment was put on hold," he smiled at her, "we weren't sure how to contact you".

Natasha signed something at him (Natasha signed?) and he laughed and signed something back.

"Talking about me in front of my face?" Shepard raised her eyebrows.

"Just teasing Nat," he shrugged.

The last time Shepard had seen him, he'd been knocked out on drugs and restrained. Nice to see a change.

"Commander," Thane nodded at her, "I see you've made some friends".

"Always do," Shepard forced Liara forward, "Liara, this is Thane, he helped me on the collector base, Liara was on my team that went after Saren".

"A pleasure to meet you," Liara smiled at him.

"And this," Shepard prodded at Vega, "is Mr. James Vega, the guy who held me hostage for the past five months".

"I want to know about the superheroes," he whined at her. 

Shepard was suddenly faced with twin looks of horror. 

"I recall a slightly old expression," she smiled at them sweetly, "you made your bed, now lie in it. Vega, Barton, Romanoff, get along".

"If I had known that I was going to meet you, Commander," Barton looked at her seriously, "I would have chosen a completely different name".

"Didn't you already know me?" she countered, "I distinctly remember calling you Hawkeye…"

"Details," he rolled his eyes and Romanoff smiled at him. They were…close? It was the first time it hit Shepard exactly how long she'd been gone. (Ashley and Liara? She hadn't seen them in ages, they were bound to change. Barton and Romanoff? They were some of the last people she'd seen before hiding off in the commune and making stupid decisions, and they'd gone and changed anyways).

"A lot seems to have happened in the past few months," she leaned against the window and noticed Liara and Thane deep in conversation. Good, she catch up with these two and then get to Thane. 

"Oh let's see, I was indoctrinated, and then I killed some people, and then I was shipped off to Tokyo and blown up by a reaper and then I had to carry a snake from Tokyo to the Citadel on my own because apparently rescue operations don't include pythons," Clint paused, "that's about all, besides having to drag a really difficult spy to the hospital to make sure her leg doesn't fall off".

Romanoff rolled her eyes, "You're such a drama queen". 

"Hey, I'm just trying to explain to the Commander why you're such a mess," Clint grinned at her and Romanoff kicked him, "ouch".

"See?" she smiled evilly, "it's not falling off anytime soon". 

"It was green last night," Clint crossed his arms.

Wait. They were spending their nights together? And Clint was looking at her leg? Were they…?

"Not what you think, Commander," Romanoff glared, "and how are you, anyways?"

"Fine," she shrugged, "things aren't as exciting in prison". 

Vega suddenly got over his shyness and interrupted, "Wait I recognize you".

Twin stares again, it was creepy.

"You were the scary one that made the video," he pushed, "I don't think that's one of the ones I showed you, Commander."

No, it wasn't. Which one was he taken about?

"You made a video?" Clint rounded on Romanoff, "I missed that one".

"You were barely on the extranet," Natasha rolled her eyes, "except to get those stupid forms." 

Shepard pretended she understood what was going on. They just kept…getting sucked into their own bubble and forgetting they were talking with other people. 

"It was a good one," Vega practically bounced, "you're terrifying, also is that a spinner ring?"

Shepard had never bothered to look at people's rings. Jewelry wasn't that important, right?

She let herself notice that both Vega and Romanoff had black rings on their right middle finger. Interesting. 

Romanoff spun hers around, "Got it in Tokyo".

"Shit," Vega's eyes widened, "you got people there?"

Romanoff nodded. 

Vancouver had been bad, but, from what Shepard understood, Tokyo had been worse. Barely any survivors, most of which died, place obliterated. It had been a warning and a threat - the reapers could obliterate them easily. They had to act quickly and obliterate them first. 

Easier said than done. 

It was probably time to visit Ashley and try not to worry too much about the things she couldn't fix. Like dead little boys. 

Fuck. 

***

She figured she should probably make her own video. Now that she was free and all.

_I have to admit that I threw myself into this without really knowing what I was doing. I know plenty of people who have a stronger connection with their transness, the culture and history around it, people who are and were a lot more prepared than me to take on this fight. The only thing I had was a certain amount of political leverage._

_I did the original interview to make the invisible visible, to remind the world that we exist and to remind each other that none of us are alone. I, um, wasn't expecting anything more than that - we all have too much to lose, I was the one who would lose the least, it was strategy._

_In prison, I was still able to watch many of your videos, and all I can say is thank you. I started with the goal to tell others they were not alone, but I ended with the knowledge that I was not alone. Your support is what got me through the past few months. Thank you for standing by me when I took the risk, because of you, the risk wasn't that bad._

_I'm Commander Shepard, and I started this, but it's not my fight, it's our fight. Let's continue standing together._

***

"For someone who can't properly end a conversation, you do make a good speech," was the first thing Garrus said when they were finally alone together.

"They teach it in N7 training," Shepard straight faced, "how to keep your troops rallied in a command position, important stuff".

"Or maybe you wrote it before hand," he eyed her.

"That's part of the training, of course".

With Garrus reinstalled in the main battery, the world suddenly made more sense. 

No Shepard without Vakarian. But now she had Vakarian back, now they could continue with the primary mission - getting politicians to work together to destroy reapers.

"Where to next?" he leaned against the console, "and who's making the decisions without Miranda?"

"You are," she smiled at him, "considering how much time you spent with her, you should know what you're doing".

"I'm a sniper, not an administrator," he crossed his arms.

"Oh yeah," she teased, "guess I better give operations to Specialist Traynor then".

"She's good," Garrus nodded. It was unprecedented to pass on operations to a non-combat personnel, but Traynor was one of the most capable people Shepard had ever met, she hadn't made the decision on a whim, but it was still nice to have his approval.

"More than good," she agreed.

"So where's our communications specialist taking us next?"

"Grissom Academy, then Citadel," Shepard shrugged, "need to keep checking in with Ashley."

"Ash?" Garrus' interest grew.

"Injured by the creepy robot Edi possessed before the possession happened," Shepard hated being the bearer of bad news, "she's in Huerta".

His mandibles tightened around his face, "I missed her".

"And now we're going to go see her," Shepard pushed down her fear. If Chakwas said Ashley was going to be all right, Ashley was going to be all right, end of story, right?

"Speaking of Huerta, whatever happened to Barton?" Garrus asked, "I heard he woke up, but then he apparently just disappeared".

Really? 

"He's on the Citadel," Shepard told him, "seems fine enough, close with Romanoff".

"Last time I heard from her, I thought she was going to die," he commented, "she all right?"

Shepard hadn't been able to figure that one out.

"Alive?"

"It's a good start," he shrugged, "we can do a lot when we're alive".

True. Why did all their conversations revolve around death and life and the fact that death always came first in that list? 

She remembered Peggy's words: this is not a way to live, this is a way to die. 

The only thing she could do alive was die. She knew that. She couldn't tell Garrus that. But at least now that he was here, she didn't have to do it alone.

"I need a beer," she decided, "come on".

"You got my kind of beer or yours?" he pushed off the console.

"Both," she'd never tell him how important it was that her personal fridge had dextro beer, but she had a feeling he knew. 

By this point, he better know.


	25. Secret Location

"So, you want me to bring Eva back to life as another person?" Peggy scepticism transferred clearly through the terminal. Miranda didn't blame her. The whole thing was a mess. She couldn't trust Eva, but she couldn't hurt Eva. They'd manage to remove her tracker at Grissom, so hopefully Cerberus thought she had died there, but still…there was only so long she could keep her assassin/friend tied up in a crummy hotel on Omega before someone started asking questions.

"I'm not sure if there's another option," Miranda considered, "I can't let her go back to Cerberus."

"No," Peggy sighed, "but I'm also still in the process of commune evac, and keeping the box intact and getting it to a place where there are humans...it's hard."

"Just, mix her in with the other refugees," Miranda pressed, "I don't think she's dangerous as long as she's not reporting back to Cerberus".

"And how can I be sure of that?" Peggy retorted, "we had to bring the entire network down when she attacked you, I can't risk putting her with the people I'm protecting from her".

"She's also one of ours," Miranda glanced at the terminal, she had ten minutes and…shit. 

"What is it?" Peggy's voice was worried. 

What was it even? A blip? Except it couldn't be. Ever. She had been too careful.

"Oriana's gone dark," Miranda muttered. She frantically opened her surveillance windows to make sure the terminal wasn't just malfunctioning.

"Look, I have a friend that might be able to help Eva," Peggy sighed, "send her to Illium and we'll take care of it, go…get your sister".

"Thanks," Miranda stared furiously at the screen. How could this have happened? Every single link and trace she had to ensure Ori's safety was just…gone, as if it had never existed in the first place.

Come to think of it, the usual reports her family sent her ("Had a nice vacation on the Citadel", "Tried out this great restaurant, we'll take you when you visit", "Ori's got a boyfriend, we're all worried", simple, normal things that meant the world to her simply because they meant Ori was not only alive, but happy). In the mess of running for her life, Miranda had grown complacent in guarding Oriana and it had come back to bite her. Hard.

If only her mistakes could be limited to hurting her. Not her innocent, civilian sister. 

***

Eva was strangely docile about the whole thing. Or maybe she was in shock. Which was more likely, Miranda couldn't begin to imagine what they had had to do to alter her. And she had been going and going and going, and then Jack had stopped her. 

"You'll be dropped off at the main Illium spaceport," Miranda shoved the ticket into her hand, "look for a quarian, green suit, her name is Anji'Raan."

Eva nodded. 

"Don't talk to anyone," Miranda worried, "and, for the love of god, do not give out your name or rank unless necessary".

Eva nodded again. Blank. She didn't look like a loose canon about to explode and murder her, but Miranda still had some new tissue on her forehead to say differently. Eva was dangerous. Had been dangerous. And now she was…empty. But the potential was still there.

Miranda steeled her nerves and shoved her onto the ship and hoped that she'd make it to Peggy's friend without getting killed or killing anyone. 

"Something up?" 

Miranda turned and saw Solana. At least one thing in the world worked right. Peggy said she'd contact the underground, she got her Solana. 

"Lots of things," Miranda informed her, "interested in one in particular?"

"A little bird told me you might need help from the underground," sol shrugged, "we can't spare much right now, but we can try to help".

One thing going perfectly smoothly.

"Let's go back to my room to talk".

It was almost as good as an office. For someone in hiding that was involved with questionably legal activity.

***

She had to meet with her contacts in person. Or well, she wanted to see Shepard, and seeing Shepard meant seeing Garrus. 

And if Peggy had resigned from C-sec, there was a chance Romanoff had to. Miranda could use her help tracking Oriana. And, more importantly, in understanding what had happened to Eva,

And she needed a final answer about what had happened to Clint. She knew what was likely - Romanoff had taken him to Tokyo like she'd said and he'd been killed in the attack (his name wasn't on any of the refugee lists), but there had to be more to the story. She didn't want to have her last memory of him be the one with him curled into a ball on the floor of a hospital room unable to recognize her. 

She made plans. A visit with Shepard, a stop with someone Solana had suggested might be good with hacking, another stop with her old contact who had helped her find some of Oriana's guards, and then two hours before she was meeting Garrus at the arena. 

(She was trying not to be nervous, but she hadn't seen him in months, and his planet had been destroyed, and dammit, she just wanted to see him, know he was alive. Just that would be enough. Really.)

It was time to recruit Romanoff. It was strange how easy it was to trace her, all C-sec addresses were easy to obtain, public record, almost. That kind of transparency would have gotten Miranda killed, she wondered how Romanoff did it. 

It was a pretty generic district of the Citadel, nothing fancy like Sunset Strip, but definitely not the lower wards either. Miranda felt out of place, this was the kind of normalcy she didn't belong in. The kind of normalcy it was hard to imagine in Romanoff, but which also made sense. Fancy C-sec job and all. 

She rang the doorbell. There were some voices, nothing recognizable, and then the door opened.

Clint was blocking the entire doorway, looking slightly threatening, and then he relaxed, "Miri?"

Oh. 

He looked…ok? He recognized her. He was staring at her, waiting for an answer.

What the hell was he doing at Romanoff's apartment?

"I thought you were dead," she tried not to be angry, no one could have contacted her, told her differently. 

"Everyone seems to greet me the same way nowadays," he rolled his eyes, "it's either that or 'wow, you have a mind', you could try being original".

Same old idiot. Alive. 

"You weren't on any of the lists," she pushed.

"And you were not only impossible to contact, but also brought down the entire network, so everyone was impossible to contact," he shrugged, "there was a snake, it's complicated. You're here to see Nat about something?"

Nat? 

"I was hoping she could help me," Miranda caught her bearings, "is she here?" 

She did the math. Clint was alive. Eva was alive. Peggy was alive. Peggy had eight others and Zen's death was accounted for. That left just three people from the commune unaccounted for - Rhys, Angel, and the kid she'd never met. 

He stared at her, "You look like shit. What's going on?" 

Not in the hallway of an apartment in a middle class district of the Citadel. She'd trained him better. 

"Actually," he turned around for a minute, "you should probably just come in, there's someone here who'd like to meet you."

He stepped to the side and she finally got a view of the room. It screamed generic middle class, definitely not brilliant secret spy that's immune to biotics. The only thing slightly out of place was the giant glass tank that had a snake in it (was that the snake Clint was talking about about?). She entered cautiously and he closed the door. 

"Nat's not home right now," he led her through the room and pushed open another door, "but you might as well meet Kate while you wait".

There was a kid, the kid, the one in the picture that was supposedly still locked away in her desk on the Normandy, sitting at a counter, scribbling at something. 

They looked up suspiciously, "Who's that?"

"Katie, this is Miri," Clint picked them up, balancing them on his hip, "she's the one who kept pulling me away from our visits, remember?"

"Angel likes Miri," Kat proclaimed. 

Wait.

"Is Angel…?" Miranda felt the math slotting into place. 

Clint nodded, "Angel and Rhys and Kate left when the network fell, they've been here a couple of weeks, we've been trying to get in touch with the others, what with Palaven…"

He glanced at Kate for a moment and trailed off. 

"Peggy got almost everyone out," Miranda couldn't believe how lucky they were, "they're on Illium."

"Almost?" Kate demanded. 

She looked helplessly at Clint. How do you explain to a kid that someone they knew was dead? Miranda was terrible with kids, or more, had never had much experience with them, at all, ever.

"Who?" Clint asked softly and put Kate back down on their stool. 

"Zen," she allowed her a moment of mourning. Zen had been there when she was boxed. They had been her guide and model in so many ways. If only she'd listened to Zen and stayed…but then she might be as dead as them. 

"You're being adults," Kate broke the silence, "I'll go in the other room".

They slid off the stool and picked up their comic book and plopped themself on the couch. 

The kitchen felt colder without the kid to dispel the tension. 

"Clint," Miranda nudged, "what are you doing here?"

"Nat's putting me up here for a while," he turned and opened a cupboard, "it makes sense since I kind of have no home, and I help out with Kate so Angel and Rhys can work, or go shopping, in this case".

"You don't work?" 

"My skills are kind of specialized," he pulled down a tin of tea and a tea egg, "you should probably do the tea making part, I know you're pretty fussy about it".

She moved to the kettle and noticed a piece of paper attached to the fridge. 

[ _ **The last one. Forever.**_

_Queer Platonic Relationship Form_

_Hello friend! This form is intended to be a polite suggestion about our current relationship:_

_Currently we are this close physically (scale of 1-10): **something**  
I'd like us to be THIS close in the future (scale of 1-10): **until N bits off C's hed**_

__**I'd like us to do these things (underlined) or not do these things (crossed out):  
 ~~Have sex~~  
Eat together   
Nap together   
Small kisses   
Hugs   
**Why don't we just say yes to all of this and then cross it out later if we need to?  
 ~~BIG kisses~~** **ewwwwwwwwwwwww  
Hold hands **N has veto power  
 ~~Celebrate anniversary ~~  
Go out together **undercover**~~~~****  
Save dogs** ~~Save snakes~~

_******~~~~ ** ** ** _

_******~~~~I'd like to call you my **partner**  
I'd like you to call me your **partner**~~ ~~ ** ** ** _

_******~~~~**Please mark and return to me or MESSAGE/CALL/TALK to me. **Yur sitting next to me, this is point less****~~~~******_ ]

Queer-platonic relationship, huh. Something to think about later. She turned her eyes back to the kettle where they would stop prying. 

"How are you?" she pushed. 

"I'm alive," he sat down in Kate's stool, "and I've accepted that this is my reality, if that's what you're asking, I was blown up again, which wasn't that much fun, and an unacceptable number of people died, but I'm alive."

He took a took breath, "Nat's been good".

Queer platonic relationship? Miranda turned and raised her eyebrows at him, "How exactly?" 

He turned slightly pink and shrugged. Ok. Miranda turned back to her tea.

"What about you?" his voice nudged at her thoughts.

"Ori's disappeared," she tried to stay calm. 

"Shit."

She nodded and willed the water to boil faster. 

"And you want Nat to help with that?" he caught on.

"I wouldn't mind your help either," the water boiled and she poured it into her mug.

He didn't respond.

"Though I understand if you have things to do…" she turned to face him and cut off her thought. 

Clint's mask had slipped. He was staring at his fingers, she could barely see his face, but he was shaking, the same way he had been in the hospital…

Before she could figure out what to do, the door banged open and Romanoff barged in, followed closely by Angel and Rhys. 

"Please tell me he didn't ditch you," Romanoff looked at Kate.

They smirked, "Kitchen. Miri came to visit".

"Miri?" Angel and Rhys looked at each other and turned towards the kitchen and caught her eye, "it's good to see you".

"Likewise," Miranda let herself relax and glanced back at Clint. His mask was back in place, as if the past few minutes had never happened. He'd always been good at that. 

"I'm not going to ask what you're doing in my kitchen, Lawson," Romanoff turned to her, "but I am going to ask Clint why he let you have my tea".

He shrugged, "Miranda without tea is dangerous".

"You should come try our tea," Rhys picked Kate up, who leaned sleepily against his shoulder, "It would be nice to catch up".

"I wish I could," she answered honestly, "but I'm afraid I'm booked until I leave tomorrow, maybe the next time I'm here".

"Next time, I need to show you Hawkeye," Kate informed her very seriously, "Nat, don't show her without me".

Another Hawkeye? Miranda was only just caught up enough to know that there was one (she only read those comics when Clint shoved them at her, and that hadn't happened in a while). 

Romanoff smiled, "Of course not, but before you go…"

She grabbed something out of her bag and handed it to kate, "Thought you might want to try this". 

Whatever the thing was, it fascinated Kate. They were twisting the plastic bits around hypnotically. 

"What do you say Kate?" Rhys prompted.

"Thank you," they frowned, "but she always gives me these things."

"Doesn't mean you shouldn't be grateful," Angel laughed.

They waved. Kate managed half a wave before falling asleep on Rhys' shoulder. Cute. 

And then Romanoff turned to Miranda, and plucked the tea out of her hand, "All right, why are you here?"

"How would you feel if I told you that you weren't the only person immune to biotics?" Miranda grabbed her tea back. 

Romanoff shrugged, "If it can happen once, it can happen again".

"What if I told you I knew that person when she was young and she only just acquired the skill," Miranda corrected and ignored Clint sitting behind her. Alive. That didn't mean anything. She didn't know his triggers. She was risking a lot mentioning this in front of him. 

"What are you saying?" Romanoff remained wary but passed back the tea.

"I'm saying that Cerberus used their data on you to torture one of my friends and I could use your expertise," Miranda explained, "I could use you for another thing too, but it's a little less pressing".

"Where's this friend?" 

"Carter's keeping her safe".

"Hate to interrupt the standoff," Clint passed Romanoff a mug of coffee, "but you are talking about Eva, right?"

Shit. Miranda nodded. 

Romanoff's eyes narrowed, "What's the other thing?"

"I have a sister," Miranda explained, "it's complicated, but she's disappeared. You're a good spy, I can pay well."

"You trust me with your family?" Romanoff leant against the couch.

Miranda's eyes flicked towards Clint, they were holding hands, cute, "I already have".

"I'm tracking a very interesting leak right now," Romanoff sipped at her coffee, "I'll help, but I need to stay within range of the Citadel for the time being". 

"I'll tell Peggy to get in contact with you about Eva," Miranda nodded, "and send you my traces on Oriana, in case there's something I missed".

She tried to ignore Clint's face - worry and frustration, but also jealousy. He wanted to be out there, doing things, fighting, spying, making hits. Why couldn't he? 

***

Garrus was waiting for her outside the arena. 

"Hey," she stood there awkwardly.

"Hey yourself," his mandibles flapped out happily.

It was him. It was really him. Still here. Still alive. Still happy. Still happy to see her. 

"Are you crying?" he asked in concern, "at least I think that's what it is? Water on your face and all? Did I say the wrong thing? I know I didn't say anything really, but it still might have been wrong and just, I want this to go right, I haven't seen you in so long and I missed you so much…and you are totally just laughing at my babble aren't you?"

She smirked, "Humans cry about everything, didn't they teach you that in C-sec?"

"I don't think they were preparing me to date an ex-Cerberus spy with decided streak of evil humor," he held the door open for her. 

"Think that's hard?" she teased, "try being a Cerberus operative dating a turian".

"Your nature is certainly questionable," Garrus conceded.

She smirked and led him into the arena, flashing her membership card.

"How's it going?" she asked after their first round with the varren, "fighting with Shepard again?"

"Right," he flipped through the programs, various configurations of varren, "lots of calibrations".

Of course.

"We had a run in with Cerberus at Grissom academy," he stopped at one that had a vorcha, "caught up with Jack, she said you'd been by recently".

Miranda's throat went dry, "what did she tell you?" was this just Garrus' way of punishing her for infidelity?

He started the program and Miranda raised her gun, glad for the excuse to stop looking at him. 

"Just mentioned you had a friend," he shot the first varren, "also you kissed her".

Miranda pulled a couple of varren into a singularity, it was overpowered for their opponent but she needed to get the tension in her nerves out somehow. 

"Are you angry?"

"Just a little jealous," he considered, "she got to do the one thing I can't do."

"She doesn't get to destroy varren in a run-down arena in the lower wards," Miranda pointed out.

The vorcha appeared. Fun. Miranda shot it in the shoulder to make the fight last longer. Garrus could take the head shot.

"There's nothing I could do with you that you couldn't get from another human," Garrus shot the vorcha's foot.

New game: keep the vorcha alive as long as possible.

"What you do doesn't matter," Miranda knew it sounded sappy, "what matters is that it's you".

Garrus took the headshot. So much for that game. 

"So you like Jack?" he approached her.

"I don't know," she turned towards him, "but I do know I love you".

Saying it the second time was so much easier. 

"How about we get out of this dump and go somewhere private?" he looked at her.

"You practiced that line, didn't you?" she raised her eyebrows at him.

Hr shrugged, "It's hard to keep up with your squishy human face, I have to practice".

"Sure," she linked her arm in his, "what kind of somewhere were you thinking of?"

He hesitated, "uh, the battery?"

Stupid awkward turian. She loved him.


	26. The Wards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for distorted thinking

It was one of those quiet realizations of something he should have already known. Palaven was occupied. The commune evacuated. Of course he was never going to read his shitty comic books again. Why did it matter?

Kate had brought one with them and Natasha had decided to use her general incapability with kids as an excuse to spoil them and apparently had limitless amounts of contacts for procuring vintage comic books. The apartment was fucking full of them because Kate kept forgetting them.

But none of them were his. They weren't the ones that the Reds had found in London, the reason he had his name, or the ones Carol had scrounged for him when she was on a mission once (he never knew where she got those), and they weren't the carefully collected and preserved booklets that Miranda always brought him whenever she visited (it's how she had bought his loyalty, even when no one else at the commune fully trusted her).

The only thing he had left of that part of his life was his name. 

That was why he didn't complain when Natasha waltzed into the apartment with a new present, not for Kate, but for him.

She plopped the ring down on the counter in front of him.

"I know you already gave up on the black ring thing," she said when he glanced up, "but some aromantic people put it on their left and it's not all black, so it doesn't actually count".

It took him a little while to figure out what he was staring at. Oh. Red on black, the black widow symbol. How did she keep getting this outdated merchandise? 

"You're only allowed to use your secret contacts to spoil Kate," he grumbled.

"It's not that secret," she rolled her eyes, "the Gandor colony has a whole bunch of crap they're trying to get rid of so their evac is lighter, and their director has a penchant for Marvel".

There were ten colonies. Tokyo was only one. He hadn't really thought about that. Or what that meant for Natasha. Matt was from Gandor wasn't he? Clint barely remembered Matt, just…the feeling of someone that didn't expect him to hear and how nice that had been. 

But colonies. Was that what she was doing all the time instead of that council leak she kept mentioning?

"Why don't you just keep it?" he willed himself away from grabbing at the ring. He didn't have anything, he wanted something, even if it was not exactly the right something, "it's more you than me".

"Don't want you to forget about me," she said, back to him, "I have to leave for a few days".

Oh. 

"Why?" he didn't want her to leave. He had grown comfortable in this life of doing nothing - it was safe, Natasha kept him sane, Kate kept him amused, he could continue in the non-action, leave productivity to people who had brains to begin with and not actually face anything directly himself. It was the easy way out, but he liked it.

"The shadow broker has a contact on Illium who might be able to locate the council leak," she turned to face him, "I figured I could stop by and meet Miranda's friend at the same time".

It made sense. It made a lot of sense. And Natasha shouldn't let the fact that he was busy making a mess of her apartment be a reason for her not to do her self-appointed job. (She enjoyed it and would probably do it whether or not she was being paid). 

He picked up the ring, "well, I guess I'll need this to make sure i don't completely forget you, a week's a long time".

"And you're a drama queen," she informed him.

He focused on the ring. She wasn't leaving him. She was leaving a bit of herself with him. He still wasn't quite steady on why, but he didn't want to ask. For some reason, she had decided to be his partner (queer platonic) and now she had given him a ring and honestly, the rest didn't matter. He really fucking loved Natasha. 

***

He honestly hadn't been looking for a gift when he saw the necklace. It was in the back of an antique shop that Kate had dragged him into in case there were avengers trading cards (he blamed Natasha's influence for every single time the kid mentioned the Avengers, Kate had always read his comics, thanks to nothing really being private property in the commune, but they hadn't been this obsessed until Natasha had become an endless supply of things).

It didn't even count as Marvel merchandise, like the ring he had hidden in his pocket to keep Kate from asking questions. Or maybe it was, the gold arrow attached to its chain was eerily similar to the one Black Widow had worn in that one movie. 

His ability with arrows was null (powers did not come with a name), but it was still a symbol. It still meant a lot more than anything else in the shop. He ignored the price and bought it without hesitation. 

He left it on Hawkeye's feeding chart (Natasha would have to feed him before she left because Clint sure as hell wasn't, he'd only just learned how to sleep comfortably with a python in a tank next to him) because he was too scared to give it to her in person (they hadn't talked about it besides the practical stuff - when she was leaving, when she was coming back, reminder to not let the milk go bad).

But he ended up in the room, watching some stupid salarian soap opera when she found it.

"You could come, you know," she turned to look at him,while she fastened it around her neck, "I could use you".

_What use would I be?_ He was too lazy to turn down the tv volume so he could hear her properly. She caught on, because she always did (which was creepy).

_You're a good shot,_ she shrugged, _and people have been telling me off for doing solo missions recently, you could be back-up._

Guns were off limits. He trusted himself, but not that much. There could still be reaper in his mind, even if he felt safe, he couldn't take that chance. 

_I can't do that,_ he turned away from her and turned off his hearing aids. She was going to push and she was going to tell him he was overreacting and being a drama queen and that he needed to get out of the mud and then she'd kick him out and...he'd only wanted to give her a gift.

He curled into the back of the couch and willed the world away because it was easier. Easier not to care. Easier not to live. Easier not to think.

But the last time he'd stopped caring he'd seen an entire colony blasted to bits by reapers. Why wasn't anything easy?

A piece of paper fell on his nose and he batted it away. It fell again.

The third time he gave up and sat up (avoiding Natasha's gaze) to look at it. 

Their stupid partnership form. If only he'd never found the original, then maybe they wouldn't be in this situation (he probably wouldn't have kept his mind after leaving the colony, though, damn logic). 

Natasha had written in, under the list of things to do or not to do, one simple word: _**survive.**_

Bullshit. 

Surviving didn't really matter for him. That was her sheet of paper now. Not his. Not theirs. No one ever seemed to understand that his survival didn't matter. He'd kind of accepted that he was going to stay alive, life sucked, but the likelihood that he was already dead was high enough that attempting to die would probably work even less than they had before. But it didn't matter. He didn't matter.

What mattered was that other people survived and that they didn't die at his hand (unless they deserved it, he was an assassin…had been an assassin). 

Natasha was in the kitchen, giving him privacy or whatever the autistics called it or something. He ripped the paper in two and threw it on the floor. 

It had been nice while it lasted, but the fact remained - Clint didn't do relationships, he was some fucked up idiot that could barely get out of bed in the morning and whatever this queer platonic partnership was, it was bullshit. 

***

He woke up to a headache and silence. And darkness. Someone had turned out the lights. 

She had left.

She wasn't coming back.

That thought was ridiculous, it was her apartment. She was probably just waiting until he left to reclaim her property. Fuck her. 

Survive. 

She should know that was the one thing he couldn't do. 

His eyes focused in the darkness and he saw the ripped pieces of paper on the floor, where he'd left it, with a gold arrow on top of it (the chain was gone, she liked to stim with chains, probably thought it was decent enough payment for his crap).

Not fuck her.

All he wanted was for her to come back and turn on the light and tape the paper together and they could go back to pretending he was all right. 

At least he still had the ring. He clutched it tightly and curled into a ball and sobbed. 

_"I'm crying because I won't be able to later."_

***

There wasn't anyone he could call or anywhere he could go. Angel and Rhys were taking care of Kate. The commune was destroyed. Zen was dead. Carol…Peggy was dead and not dead and had a girlfriend and was happy. Miranda had her sister. Eva was… 

Spirits knew where Eva was or even if she was still alive. 

He'd been relying on other people for too long anyways. 

Whatever he was going to do, he was going to have to do it himself. 

The first step was deciding what that was. 

Leaving. That was a good first step, getting out of this room where he didn't belong. The room was happy, he wasn't. 

He thought about gathering his stuff, and then decided it didn't matter, he had so little anyways. All he really needed was what he was wearing, she could burn the rest or something. 

He closed the door behind him and erased the key code from his omnitool. There. It was final. 

He made his way down the apartment complex's hallway to the public sectors of the Citadel. 

Now he had to figure out something else to do. His stomach growled. Food. That was a good goal. He found a shitty pizza place down a back alley and ordered a large pizza. His personal account was nearly out of credits, he'd have to check and see if the account he kept for Cerberus payments was still active and risk Cerberus tracking him if he wanted to eat again.

He didn't have to eat again. He was useless anyways. It would be kind of poetic and relaxing to drown himself in one of the Presidium pools. 

Figure that out later. Pizza first. 

Shouting broke out, loud. Ouch. He turned to see what the matters, there were some kids beating a dog to a pulp.

"Hey," he jumped up before he had time to thing, "leave the fucking animal alone".

"What are you trying to say, homeless guy?" one of the kids shouted, "dog bites, deserves this".

Yeah, he was homeless, wasn't he? Oh well, he'd been there before. He punched the kid in the jaw with the head that wasn't holding pizza and kicked the other one down. They stared at him in shock, plopped on the ground. Clint allowed himself to be amused.

He crouched down to check on the dog. It was missing an eye, but that seemed to have healed over, injury from a while ago then. No horrible new injuries. The bullies were weaklings. Heh.

Scrawny thing though. Clint offered the dog the last of his pizza and he gobbled it down instantly.

"Hey boy," he whispered, "you're going to be all right. We're going to be all right".

Dog that ate pizza. There were definitely worse things in the world. 

***

He named the dog Lucky. 

After Clint Barton's dog. Who also ate pizza. He was creative. 

All he had was his name and a dog. The real Clint Barton had had about that much at times, and he'd ended up ok. 

He'd survived. Against all odds.

Actually, he'd had Kate. Kate Bishop. Not a bratty little kid that thought he was a hero. (Kate Bishop had known Barton wasn't a hero and she'd loved him for it, dammit, the parallels were wearing thin, no one loved him).

A different Clint Barton had been brainwashed by an alien and, instead of slipping down a brain cliff of doom, he'd gotten up and sent an exploding arrow at Loki.

Those things didn't really work on reapers. 

It didn't matter. He had a dog. Dog's name was Lucky. He managed to steal a credit chit off of some self-satisfied Alliance officer prancing through a boutique so he would probably survive a week.

Survive. 

Funny word. 

Not worth thinking about too much. He had a dog to take care of and feed. The dog was really fucking scrawny. Clint bought another large pizza and let Lucky eat all of it.

Lucky at ALL of it. 

Hungry dog. 

Clint liked having a dog. It was warm and cuddly and didn't expect anything from him. If he didn't feed him pizza, Lucky would still be warm and cuddly, just a bit hungry. 

It was hard to believe he bit that kid. Kid probably deserved it. 

But that was probably because those kids were assholes. 

When he started to get tired, they found a quiet corner in the wards and curled up together. Being homeless wasn't that bad with a dog.


	27. Another Secret Location

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for suicide mention

The information piled up, but none of it led to an exact lead. Question after question after question. 

Miranda stared at the terminal, frustrated. Why didn't any of this make sense? Why couldn't at least one little detail go out of place?

Where was Oriana? Her family? Was her father controlling her the same way he had hurt Miranda? Was she even still alive?

Plan now. Worry later. 

There was an incoming call from someone on Illium.

She answered. Romanoff. What was she doing on Illium?

"Hey Lawson, I think our problems might actually be the same," she looked serious.

"What do you have then?" she tried not to hope. She'd been getting information from people forever, it could be anything.

"Your dad's name is Henry, right?" Romanoff asked, "Henry Lawson?"

"Yes".

"Well, I finally managed to intercept these leaks coming from the Council to Cerberus," Romanoff glanced behind her, "he shows up a bunch. Seems to be plotting something with the Illusive Man, can't quite figure out what".

"Who from the Council is leaking to Cerberus?" Miranda wondered before she could shut her mouth.

Romanoff's face darkened, "I bet you can figure that one out without any spy work". 

True. Fucking asshole. The human councillor was the kind of person that made joining a terrorist organization look like a good idea. Minus the fact that he was involved in a terrorist organization. 

"Think you could pass on some of the data to me?" she tried to see if any of her information ever linked her father with Cerberus. Nothing. Was this trustworthy?

"Doing it now," Romanoff nodded, "and Lawson?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't trust me with your family," she shrugged, "I'm a little too selfish".

What the hell?

"Eva?" 

"Can't say much for Dottie," Romanoff's eyes were flicking all over the place, how many terminals was she working with?, "they definitely did something to her, but we haven't been able to figure out what yet, and if it's still hurting her".

Oh god.

"Clint?"

Romanoff froze. 

"I'm a little too selfish," she repeated again, cold.

Miranda did not have time for this. Clint needed to get his shit together.

"Is he alive?" she opted for the care minimum.

"No idea, just disappeared when I turned my back fora few seconds," Romanoff's eyes went back to flicking, "problem is, I got the leak too late, Cerberus is attacking theCcitadel...now? Soon. I'm going there as soon as this is over".

She didn't have time to search down one missing, difficult human being because all of citadel space was at stake, of course.

"I'll deal with it," Miranda decided.

"Deal with what?"

"Clint," she sighed, why did he keep pulling her off track? She had to find Oriana, "do you have a location?"

"Probably Citadel," Romanoff shrugged, "that's too dangerous for you right now, Peggy said she'd take care of it, I'm sorry I...can't".

"You don't understand how we work then," Miranda responded coldly, "can't isn't part of our vocabulary. And Peggy's tied up with the refugees, you know as well as I do she shouldn't leave them. I'll go."

"But your sister," Romanoff's eyes narrowed, "and Cerberus is kind of chasing you, I can't promise to keep them off your back, it's going to get messy there."

"You got me the information I need to continue my tracking," Miranda shrugged, "maybe facing Cerberus head on will get me even more information".

Maybe her father would be there. Maybe Oriana would be there. It was all connected in the end.

Maybe even Shepard would be there. She did have a nose for that kind of trouble.

"Well, I hope I don't meet up with you soon then, Lawson," Natasha cut off.

***

She had to steal a single person shuttle in order to get to the Citadel. And dock it under the radar, because no one was manning traffic control.

"I should just retire and buy myself a cottage on a lake," she grumbled to herself as she snuck down an abandoned corridor.

"Make it room for two," a voice surprised her. She whirled and pointed her gun straight at Garrus. 

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"Well, apparently something about meeting with an ambassador," he kept his voice down, "turns out your old friends got here first".

"You weren't warned?" she turned her back and kept pushing down the corridor. He'd have her back. Whatever he was doing...alone.

"You were?" 

She nodded, "What's your aim?" 

That would decide her next strategy.

"Clean up," he said, "Shepard's team has gone after Leng, the rest of us are trying to keep the place clear, you?"  
Leng was here? Fuck. 

Miranda considered. She had a feeling Clint wasn't there. Or he was in the vents and staying invisible for his own reasons,. Or, he was dead. That was always a possibility.

"I need to get into the Cerberus command," she figured, "there's a chance there will be helpful data there".

He nodded, "there's a terminal over there, I'll cover you".

She didn't need to respond, just went to the terminal. Her hacking skills weren't the best, but she wasn't perfect for nothing. Nothing. Damn. 

"Prepare for combat," Garrus muttered, "the elevators are moving."

Well, so much for information gathering. Miranda shut the terminal and turned. 

And, of course, Shepard burst in with a giant yell.

"Good to see you Miranda," she nodded, "we seem to have a bit of trouble with our new councillor."

"I noticed," Miranda turned towards the first elevator, whose doors were opening and shot. Catch up later, survive now.

***

"I told you it would be better if you stayed away," Romanoff muttered in Miranda's ear as Shepard's alliance friend slowly turned her gun on Udina. 

"You're probably right," she admitted, "none of the data is there, if they're working with my father, they've removed the traces".

Garrus gave them a look, as if to say, "we're about to kill the councillor here and you two are gossiping in the back? Seriously?"

Fine. She turned her attention back to the scene in front of her. Udina had gotten his hand on something and no one else seemed to have noticed. Miranda surreptitiously removed the safety on her pistol. He was going to throw whatever it was in three...two...

A shot came from behind the group and he crumpled to the terminal. Good riddance.

No one had their gun out besides...whatever that soldier was called, and she definitely hadn't been the one to take the shot. She turned slowly, with the rest of the group.

Clint was leaning against the back wall, absently studying a Cerberus pistol, a dog at his feet (a dog?).

"What?" he glanced up, "he was about to throw a grenade at you idiots, what else was I supposed to do?"

"I really didn't need to come here," Miranda grumbled under her breath.

"Glad you're here though," Garrus heard her, damn turian hearing.

She turned to him, "Remind me to never do anything for Romanoff ever again".

"I'll be out of your hair as soon as possible," Romanoff was glaring at Clint, with enough hostility to destroy a thresher maw. He opened his mouth to say something and she turned away. 

Miranda felt a surge of anger. No one was allowed to turn their back on her family, no matter what. She had trusted Romanoff and that trust had been broken. 

"Please don't kill her," Garrus put a hand on her shoulder.

She wouldn't. But that didn't mean the thought didn't give her pleasure. But Clint was top priority. She approached him and Garrus followed, still attached to her shoulder. 

He looked like a wreck (as always), dirty, malnourished, miserable. 

"Miri," his smile was a failure, "how are you doing?"

"A better question would be what the hell happened to you?" she crossed her arms.

"I'm fine," he returned her gaze, "some shit happened but not as bad as usual, worry about yourself for once".

Not as bad as usual. No attempt. Thank the spirits and the goddess and the heavens and whoever those drell gods were. 

"I worry about us," she told him, "we have to look out for each other".

"We're also not supposed to hurt each other," he shrugged, "and I've done that twice now. It's a different world now".

"Or you've given up again," she knew him a little too well.

"I'm not going to kill myself, I have a dog, stop worrying about the useless idiot and start worrying about yourself," he rolled his eyes.

She hated how blunt he was. She knew it was stupid - not saying he was suicidal wouldn't make it untrue. But she wanted it to work that way. If she ignored the facts enough, they'd have to change, if only...

"Seeing as you just saved us from a grenade, I wouldn't call you useless," Garrus commented. Shit, she'd forgotten he was there (though his hand was settled calmly on his shoulder).

Clint dropped the gun, "one time accident, don't count on it".

"Promise to call me if you need help," she figured that would be the only thing she could possibly get out of him, "I can't promise to be there immediately, but I'll do what I can". 

He shrugged and nodded, "I should probably get going".

She nodded back, "take care".

"Don't worry," his smile was bitter, "I'm surviving".

He turned and he and the dog melted into the shadows of the presidium debris. 

"That's not worrying at all," Garrus commented.

Miranda remembered Clint's first attempt, he'd tried to hang himself in the commune dining room soon after he was first boxed. She remembered sitting next to him for hours as he screamed at her in a scratchy voice for even daring to help him. He'd nearly killed her that day.

"It's all relative," she shrugged.

***

"Come with us," Shepard joined her at the railing, staring down where the Normandy was docked, "I could use my XO back".

"I thought you had a very capable person keeping track of your administration," Miranda had met specialist Traynor once with Garrus. A good officer. A good choice on Shepard's part. But Shepard was a good leader, it wasn't a surprise.

"Traynor's aim is a bit off," Shepard shrugged, "you could help improve the odds a bit".

"I have to track this lead properly now," Miranda said, "it would be a bit hard on a space ship".

"The Shadow Broker manages".

The Shadow Broker, as in the secret information broker that no one could locate, was on Shepard's team?

"Remind me never to get on your bad side," she teased, "you have powerful allies".

"Like you," Shepard turned her words around.

"Thanks, but I'll need more than a compliment".

"Damn," Shepard smiled, "what if I mentioned Garrus missed you?"

"I already knew that," she missed him too.

"I miss you?" Shepard tried.

"I miss you too," everyday. Fighting alongside someone she could trust, someone she believed in, someone who got the job done and was honest about it. That was something she would always miss.

Project Lazarus had been her best work, with the best results. The Normandy had been her best post. Nothing she could do would ever change that.

"Alliance contacted me a little while back," Shepard turned to her, "they said they'd pardon me with lifetime immunity for my brave actions if I gave them the names of other trans people".

"Sounds like a witch hunt," Miranda murmured, "if they can divide us, we're easier to cut down".

Their hatred terrified her.

"This isn't Salem," Miranda continued, "we're not an allegory for communism". 

"Tyranny maybe?" Shepard mused, "I never took political science, what's an allegory?"

"Literature thing," Miranda forgot sometimes how lucky she was to have an education. 

A figure appeared in the Normandy airlock and waved.

"That looks like my cue," Shepard turned to her, "are you sure you don't want to come along".

No. She definitely did want to.

"Positive".

"I hope you're slightly better at lying next time I see you," Shepard turned and disappeared through the door. 

Miranda watched as the Normandy powered up and flew towards the sky, out of orbit. Off to new adventures. 

She moved to her own ship, time to change location before Cerberus caught wind she was there. Time to go back on the run.

Clint was right on one thing, she had to stop worrying. If she kept worrying about him and everyone else, even Ori, she wasn't going to survive long enough to save Oriana or get back at her father, or do anything, really. 

Survival first, then go through the leaks Romanoff had sent her to track her father, and get to Oriana.


	28. Obervation Deck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this kind of begins the third (and kind of final) section. Yay!!!!
> 
> Warnings - discussion of genitalia, canon character deaths, alcohol, discussion of sex, transphobia

They'd never talked about it. Shepard had written Ashley a letter before she did the interview with Emily, but even after Mars, even after multiple visits in the hospital, they still hadn't talked about it. 

Ashley was the only member of her crew who had never responded to the whole scandal. At all. In any way. (Joker had vacillated a bit, but had gotten deep into a conversation about gender theory with Edi, and that was enough, Shepard knew he wasn't comfortable but that he dealt, Shepard didn't know at all what Ashley thought).

It was nice to have Williams on board again, where she belonged, but also terrifying.

But this was her job now, she wasn't just a confused trans person, she was a messenger, or something, she was definitely responsible for a movement.

She really didn't want Ashley to reject her. But not knowing was worse.

"Figured we should have a talk," she sat herself across from Ashley.

"What about, commander?" Ashley looked at her innocently, "are you angry I tried to keep protecting uUdina".

"I would hav ,done the same," Shepard shook her head, "I just...figured you might have some questions".

Ashley looked confused.

Deep breath, "because I'm boxed," Shepard whispered.

"I thought you'd be tired of those kinds of questions," Ashley shrugged, "I can't say it's the easiest thing ever, but you're my commander".

"I think the proper word would be equal, seeing as you're the second human spectre," Shepard knew she was avoiding the actual subject.

"Second comes after first," Ashley replied, "if I'm following in the footsteps of a trans person, I better rethink what that means quickly".

"And no questions?" 

Ashley laughed, "I don't need to know the gory details commander".

"Damn," Shepard joked, "and here I was hoping I could explain to you exactly how I lost my penis".

She'd never really thought about it in those terms. But they were there. For cis people. And for some of the people in the commune, it had been a point of pride, almost. 

Shepard would be proud of her body the way she was proud of her community.

"Please don't," Ashley's voice was strained, Shepard looked at her and laughed. 

She stuck out her tongue, "not fair commander, picking on us poor conservative folks".

"It's still my ship," Shepard leaned back in her seat and took in the stars. Three years ago, she'd fallen through those stars and died, and now she was back to observing them safely from the Normandy. 

It was good to have a home.

***

She mourned Thane the same way she had mourned Mordin - with a giant bottle of wine. 

The bottle was only half empty when Garrus showed up in her quarters.

"I feel like we've already talked about this," he took in the mess that was her and the bottle and the bed. 

"Then we don't have to talk about it now," she took another gulp. It wasn't as crappy as it had been when she started out. Probably meant it was good enough to do its job. 

He settled down onto the bed next to her, but didn't say anything. She considered offering him some of the wine and then realized it would make him sick. There were dextro beers in the fridge, at least she thought there were, he could help himself if he wanted anything. 

She observed her bottle closely. Wine was nice. It made other things go away.

"When I was in the Reds," she mumbled, "you know, the gang, there was this girl who was with us. Well, kind of with us. All she did was scream."

"Sounds painful," Garrus was listening.

"It was," she nodded, "I hated her. But now, it sounds kind of nice. Just scream until everything else goes away, I wish I could do that". 

Thane had spent his last fucking breath to pray for her and here she was drinking that all away into oblivion. 

"I'm a fucking wreck," she muttered. Garrus nodded in agreement. 

"You're supposed to disagree with me," she informed him, "make me feel better about myself".

"I'm sorry," he responded, "you are the perfect model of health and wellbeing".

"Fuck you," she took another gulp, and her mind turned.

He reached over and removed the bottle from her grasp. She glared at him.

"We arrive at the temple in ten hours," he explained, "you'll want to be somewhat sober, I'm assuming".

"I don't like logic," she reached for the bottle. He pulled it out of reach and put it down on the far side of the bed.

"Fuck you," she repeated. 

"You could try sleeping," he suggested, "it might help you prepare for what we find there".

Sleeping was bad. Sleeping meant a little boy in the woods that she couldn't save. Sleeping meant nightmares and guilt and everything bad. Wine. Alcohol. Much better solution. Except Garrus had removed that. 

"Don't want to sleep," she mumbled. 

"Fine," Garrus considered, "you could tell me another story".

"What kind of story?" she leaned her head on his shoulder. She was tired dammit. No sleep.

"What happened to that girl?" 

"Don't know," she'd never thought about it, "she showed up one day and started screaming and then two months later, she disappeared. Apparently she stole some shit, Duke and Hawkeye raised a fuss about it, but I never really cared, I was just happy to get my ears back". 

It was a strange story, really. It had never occurred to her before. It was as if she hadn't really existed until after the box. 

But that image of screaming, of letting out all her anger and frustration and guilt, it sounded like a solution to the crap she was in. It was a good remedy to the images of dead bodies that were normally in her mind.

The girl had been younger than her.

"Have to wonder what it was," she mused, "what was so horrible that all she could do was scream".

"The galaxy's full of terrible things," Garrus sighed, "even before the reapers".

Yeah. 

"Maybe they're doing us a favor," she whispered, "cleaning up our messes".

"I don't think taking out entire planets counts as cleaning," Garrus' voice vibrated through her entire body.

No. It didn't. And Thane and Mordin? They weren't the people who would need to be cleaned away. They weren't good people (scientists and assassins rarely were) but they had done good. And Mordin...had died undoing his life's work. Thane had given her the chance to save the Citadel.

They had done it themselves. The galaxy didn't need any goddamn cleaners when there were people doing good. 

And maybe someday little girls would stop screaming, if the reapers would just give people like them the chance to keep doing good. 

"Stop thinking Shepard, you're drunk," Garrus prodded at her.

"What else am I supposed to do?" 

"Sleep," he pulled her closer. He was wearing armor and kind of spikey, but it was comfortable. She could sleep like this. Garrus could keep the nightmares away. At least for now.

***

Putting Specialist Traynor in charge of administration had been the best decision of her life, or at least her current fight against the reapers. It also meant Shepard played a lot more chess than she had ever prepared for. She knew that Traynor probably didn't have to work to win (Shepard was horrible at chess) but she had a feeling the gossip was thrown in purposefully to distract her. It was a definitely very effective.

"Samara's pretty sexy," Traynor's commentary was not the bland psychoanalysis that Kelly did, it was...colorful (and repetitive).

"More or less than Edi?" Shepard watched as her specialist took her pawn. A pawn was ok, right?

Traynor spluttered slightly, "Less. The whole black and white code isn't that attractive, what if there's some part of the code that has to do with killing your sexual partners if they don't perform well?"

"Feeling out of practice?" Shepard silently said goodbye to her rook. 

"All the hot ones are taken here," Traynor smirked as Shepard moved a pawn and her stomach dropped. Oh well, it wasn't like she had a chance to begin with. 

"What do you mean?" Shepard didn't know of anyone taken (besides Edi).

"Well, Edi's all over joker," Traynor killed her queen, "Ashley's with James, Liara's into Grunt, though she'd never admit it...that's not something I want to think about honestly, check".

"Have you never had asari sex?" Shepard forlornly moved her king because why the hell not?

Traynor shook her head, "Check mate, you're not getting any better with practice".

"Mind games aren't my thing," Shepard shrugged, "you should try asari sex, it's brainy, like you."

It felt great, actually, much nicer than embracing the goddess and having a prothean beacon sorted out in her head.

Traynor shrugged, "if I get the chance".

She started clearing away the game. They'd already finished the actual stuff they had to do before returning to the Citadel before then, she probably had signals to trace and whatever, because she was productive. Shepard just drank and talked to people and shot things.

"Commander, can I..um...ask you a question?"

Traynor suddenly looked nervous.

Shepard put on her all-knowing commander persona (as opposed to the sexual advisor one), "of course".

"Do you," Traynor took a deep breath, "do you think it's possible to be trans without wanting to be boxed?"

"Of course," Shepard was slightly shocked, "what kind of bullshit are they teaching in schools these days?"

"Well, just, all the conversations about the binary legalities and the videos, it's all about the box," Traynor swept the chess pieces into their box, "you start to wonder".

"The box is just the most visible way of being trans," Shepard figured she was probably part of the problem there, "but there are trans people I know who live their entire life in the same building as the box without ever considering it for themselves, doesn't make them less trans."

How had Zen explained it to her?

Oh yeah, "the box is cosmetic. Like, it's important on a physical level, but it also is what allows us to live among cis people in secret and be accepted socially, it's forced by others, not always necessary for us, it gets a bit messier when your gender isn't male or female, but I wouldn't know shit about that".

Traynor dropped the box and the chess pieces scattered across the floor.

"I think I might be trans," she whispered and turned to Shepard, "I don't want to be trans".

Shit. She wasn't trained to do this. And she didn't have Miranda, who did actually know how to do this. She barely knew shit herself, just parroted the wisdom of people who knew what they were talking about.

"You have a big family, Traynor," she tried, "don't write it off as awful until you meet them".

"I don't know," she was crying now, damn, " I just figured I was safe because I didn't want to be boxed, but I'd be killed anyways, wouldn't I?"

"Being trans isn't all about getting killed," Shepard insisted, "I even got to come back to life".

"How can you joke about that when there was a lynching on the Citadel yesterday?" 

Oh yeah. Some angry cis humans had decided to take matters into their own hands and chased Angel and Kate halfway through the presidium. She hadn't even known they were on the Citadel until she saw the news.

"Attempted lynching," Shepard pointed out, "they didn't succeed".

A homeless man with a dog had threatened the mob away. Miranda had told Shepard not to worry about him, but it was still nice to know he hadn't starved himself to death since the Cerberus attacked (he'd definitely looked like he was about to keel over, even when being effectively threatening).

"How many times is a random homeless guy going to save people from lynchings?" 

"A better question would be how many times is a trans person going to protect one of their own," Shepard knew that, "and the answer is always".

"Oh," Traynor started picking up the chess pieces again.

"Look, I'm not good at this," Shepard sighed, "and yeah, it sucks sometimes, really sucks, but I wouldn't be me if I wasn't trans, that's got to count for something, right?"

"It's a little different when you're the first human spectre," Traynor finally looked up. 

"It's just a title," Shepard shook her head, "I'm at least as fucked up as the rest of you, probably more".

"So the galaxy's in the hands of a loser?" 

"Could be worse," Shepard tried to lighten the mood, "it could be in the hands of the council".

"Lord save us from that fate," Traynor rolled her eyes. 

Shepard made a note to stop by Illium sometime soon. Apparently Carter had managed to evacuate most of the commune there, maybe they could help Traynor more than she could.


	29. The Memorial Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we disregard the Omega DLC. 
> 
> Mentions of suicide, unreality, child abuse, stalking

The Shadow Broker. T'Soni. Liara had accepted Natasha's acceptance of her offer long after she had proposed it. She'd been hit by Cerberus, apparently, and there was always a need for the information economy, especially at a time of war. Natasha felt a bit like a sell-out, but it was a job and she needed jobs now she had finished with the Cerberus leak. 

Liara was sending her to the Nura system to infiltrate the Volus archives. They were unthreatening round balls, but it would be exciting. Information was exciting, she was a spy.

It meant leaving the Citadel for an undetermined amount of time though. Which was probably something she should have done earlier.

Still, she had to say goodbye.

She hadn't had any photos of Gianna and Tod, but Clint had drawn a picture and they'd put it up on the memorial wall. She visited it more than was probably healthy, but healthy had never been one of her concerns. That was…Gianna's concern. Natasha's was survival. And sometimes the two things coincided, and that's why Gianna and Tod had been so important, but it wasn't necessary. So she let herself visit whenever she missed them, her health be damned. 

Except now she had to say goodbye to them. She hated saying goodbye to them. She would just have to believe she was going to come back. 

She tapped the images gently and tried to imagine Gianna's arms around her and Tod smiling over her shoulder. 

"It's ok to cry, honey," an old lady tapped her on the shoulder and offered her a handkerchief. She hadn't even noticed she was crying. She took the piece of fabric and tried to smile at the lady in thanks.

"Hard times all around," the woman murmured, "who were they?"

"My parents," Natasha couldn't explain, "kind of. They saved me…or more, helped me save myself".

"They sound like people the world needs more of," the woman patted her shoulder.

Yeah. Tell that to the Alliance that had forced them into a place that was barely aware that reapers existed for their own good. 

"Kind of funny," the lady kept talking, "the drawing. Most people have photographs."

Most people had a little bit more foresight than she had. The thought of taking a photo of them, keeping it on her omnitool, it hadn't even occurred to her. 

"It's something," she responded. 

The woman nodded at her, "keep the handkerchief," and wandered off.

***

After Nura, she was sent to do clean-up in Arcturus, and then the Pelion system. It was good. She was spying. Not killing people or dealing with ethical decisions, just sneaking in and gathering intelligence where it was needed. She was back to doing her job. 

Then Liara assigned her a new job, with a partner - infiltrate Omega, gather anything and everything on Petrovsky. Kasumi's grinning face filled the screen, "it's going to be fun!"

They teamed up with the leader of the Omega resistance, Nyreen Kandros, and got lots of good dirt on Aria's love life (more than Natasha ever wanted to know, but information was power, it may help for blackmail someday). 

In the end they cut contact with Liara and decided to bring down Petrovsky. It was a good challenge.

"Kasumi always talks about the mysterious Jacob, and I have Aria," Nyreen commented one night while they were waiting for a bug Kasumi had sent into the control office to take effect, "what about you?"

"I don't really do that kind of thing," Natasha willed herself anywhere but that room.

"What's the necklace then?" Kasumi turned away from the terminal, "I assumed you got it from some lover".

Natasha touched the necklace, the gold arrow against her collar bone. Lover? No. Friend? He'd disappeared before she could figure that one out. He'd destroyed everything they had been together and disappeared and she still wore the stupid necklace because, even with that, she still missed him. Fuck him. Natasha hated Clint Barton.

"Just a reminder," she took her hand away, "no secret lovers, don't worry".

"Boring," Kasumi scoffed.

Confusing. How did people handle sexual and romantics relationships? She could barely figure out one friendship.

***

Liara gave them "leave" after they destroyed Petrovsky. Or more, didn't have anything immediate to send them on and was slightly peeved they went behind her back. Natasha used it as a chance to visit Illium and check up on Dottie.

There wasn't really much she could do, but she still felt a need to help. As far as she was aware, they were the only two humans in the galaxy that could resist biotics. She owed her a visit, even if she spent it watching her do absolutely nothing and respond to absolutely nothing.

She thought about saying hi to Peggy, but they hadn't really left on good terms last time. Peggy's words still echoed in her ears ( _"you've as good as murdered him"_...maybe she was right).

She went back to the Citadel to wait for another job (which better come quickly, she needed a distraction). It was good to be back to her apartment, her personal space that she didn't have to organize or arrange, it already just was. Maybe she'd ask for a Citadel job next so she could spend a little extra time there. 

There was someone else near Gianna and Tod's picture on the memorial wall. Scratch that. Clint was standing there at Gianna and Tod's picture.

Which, of course, would make sense. But they were hers. He'd lived with them for what? Two months. He had no right to be standing right where she was supposed to be, infringing on her space, especially when he'd made it very clear that she had just been a means to an end. He didn't care about Gianna and Tod, just what they had done for him.

Except, then, why had he bothered to visit the memorial wall?

Why had he bought her the necklace and cared enough to drag her python, which he was definitely terrified of, all the way from Japan to the Citadel?

She really wanted to believe he cared, dammit.

Natasha let herself lurk for a few more seconds. He was skinny and dirty, the homeless look from last time seemed to be true. Where was he sleeping? Was he even eating? That stupid dog from last time was still there, too, lying at his feet, also dirty and skinny. What even was his deal? Why did she care?

She cared because he'd nearly broken her hand and she wanted to believe that letting him see the most private, precious part of her life had been the right choice, that it hadn't been for nothing. 

She went and stood next to him at the wall. He glanced at her in surprise for a moment and then went back to looking at the picture. She ignored him because she had no idea what to say ("you ripped up the thing that defined our relationship and now I'm worried about you because I'm an idiot that can't take a hint"?)

What would Gianna do? Believe the best in a person. Assume that there was a logical, human reason behind their actions. Try to figure out what they need. Provide it if it was something she could provide. Understand that everyone is fighting their own battles that have nothing to do with her.

Shit. 

She should have seen it before. Of course he was fighting a much bigger battle than she could see from the outside perspective. The disappearing act probably had nothing to do with her.

But she was Natasha, not Gianna, it was a little harder for her to do right by other people. She could barely take care of herself. 

_"Last time you were here was the first time I saw you happy stim."_

"Missed you," she whispered quickly before she could second guess herself.

"I'm sorry," he looked at her, "are you saying that because you're desperate or because you don't recognize me?"

"I'm saying it because it's the truth," she stared straight ahead, "though you do look like more shit than usual, it did take me a little while to recognize you."

He stared at her. 

She channelled Gianna. Everyone has their own battles. There was a logical, human reason behind his actions. What did he need? A bath, it smelled like. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I was selfish. I was so wrapped up in what I needed…I forgot, well, I forgot you weren't me."

"What is that?" 

"What is what?" she knew she should turn, let him read her lips, but she needed Gianna's eyes on her, the belief that she could do this, not run away. 

"What you need?" he clarified, "it's just, it's obvious I'm a mess and need help all the time or I go crazy, but that's a fucking full-time job for you. What did you even get out of anything?"

Oh. 

Answer the question. She could do that, "You make me happy stim".

It felt like she was confessing her deepest, darkest secrets in some weird gesture of love. Gianna would flap in romantic joy. 

They just wanted her to be happy, but happiness had never been part of the equation. 

She felt something bump into her hand, an offer, and she grabbed his hand. She needed grounding too sometimes.

"After I escaped, after Teltin," she tried to explain the jumble in her head that she ignored, "they were still there, in my head, the simulations, the control, the brainwashing, there were a lot of chemicals, I had to deal with it on my own".

"Didn't you have them?" he gestured at the image.

"I didn't find the colony until later," she said, "I was stable then, knew they'd be able to help, going there was a conscious decision". 

"I just," she took a breath, "I didn't want you to have to deal with that alone. I needed to be there for you, not for you, but myself, be the person I never had, and then, when I realized that I wasn't actually helping, that you were still a mess, I freaked out…I forgot how much distance there was between us, I'm…I'm sorry".

She was crap at apologies. 

"Recovery's not really my thing," he muttered, "or survival. I can't really change the facts, even for you. Sorry."

"Why not?" survival was everything. If she survived, that was one more chance she hadn't had before. 

"Don't know," he shrugged, "genetics, probably, born to be a mess".

There was something hard on his hand poking into her finger. The ring. 

"Nothing wrong with being a mess," she still was one. She was just able to hide it behind her own apartment and a job, of sorts and things that made her look like not a mess.

"Thought about drowning myself in the presidium pools," he commented.

Was he trying to manipulate her into pity or give her an example? 

Believe the best in a person. 

"They're too shallow and too many people," she informed him, "you're going to have to lose the drama if you want to be successful".

"Maybe the drama's why I considered it," his grip tightened slightly. Natasha gave up on understanding him.

"Where have you been living?" she asked instead.

He shrugged, "There are some nice corners in the wards, good with a dog, better than a dumpster, vents are good when there are too many people around". 

Oh dear.

"You could…sleep on the couch," she suggested, "you know, be slightly less exposed, eat."

"Don't really want to be confined," he shook his head. 

In a way, she felt relieved. She didn't really feel ready to open up her space to anyone again. 

"Come have dinner, then," she offered, "I could offer you a shower too."

"Are you saying I smell?" 

She didn't need to respond to that.

"Fine," he said, "Lucky eats pizza".

"Lucky?"

"The dog?" he rolled his eyes, "did you even read all those comic books you gave Kate?"

Oh. She'd never forget pizza dog.

"Did you force feed it pizza until it became a representation of your longing to be a very specific walking disaster?" 

"He stole it out of my hands," he made a face, "my last slice, I had to buy a whole new pizza".

Sure.

***

Her cooking skills were beyond questionable, so she ordered a pile of sandwiches for her and Clint and pizza for the dog (who she confined to the kitchen because it terrified Hawkeye into a tiny ball and she didn't really like smelly creatures that scared Hawkeye). 

"Hey thanks," Clint wandered out of the bathroom, "I forgot how nice a real shower was".

"You also forgot that shirts are mandatory here," Natasha averted her eyes. She did not like naked people. She was sure the nakedness was lovely, she just did not want to look at it, particularly in her apartment. 

"Oh yeah," he disappeared again and came out with a purple t-shirt on backwards, good enough.

"Are you trying to become your namesake?" she took the image in - he might as well have come out of the comics, dishevelled hair, purple shirt, baggy jeans (shit, he was bonier than she had originally thought), all he needed was a couple of band aids, bleach, and a bow and arrow. 

"Chose the name for a reason," he grabbed a sandwich off the counter, "That's got to mean something right? Latent Hawkeye genes maybe?"

"I'm going to quote that to you at the most embarrassing moment ever," Natasha took another bite of her sandwich. 

"Thanks for this," he mumbled around the sandwich in his mouth, "food is good".

"Do I want to know what you've been eating?" she looked away as he started on his second sandwich.

"No," some bread fell out of his mouth, he picked it up and shoved it back in, "well, pizza on good days…"

And nothing on bad days. And something that probably didn't count as food on the in-between ones. Great. How had Natasha not seen exactly how bad he was before this happened?

Because she was selfish, right. 

"Where have you been anyways?" he reached for a third sandwich. 

"How did you know I was gone?" 

He pointed to her ceiling. What?

"Vent system's pretty handy," he shrugged.

"You were spying on me".

"No," he swallowed, "I was trying to. You weren't home. And then I tried it again. And again. I thought you were attached to the Citadel".

That wasn't creepy at all. 

"I got some good jobs," she hedged, "did you hear about what happened on Omega?"

He spluttered and bits of sandwich flew everywhere, "That was you?"

She smirked and turned to wash her plate in the sink, "I did have a little help". 

"Though if Kate's not exaggerating, you've been up to some things too," she pointed out, "you're their new hero".

"I thought I'd always been their favorite hero," Clint whined. 

"That, I believe, would be Kate Bishop," Natasha tried to keep a straight face, "though they informed me in our last conversation that they were thinking of changing their name to Barbara".

He looked confused.

"As in, Bobbi Morse?" she prompted, "part of the hero thing I was mentioning".

"You have created a demon," he informed her seriously as he finished the last sandwich (thank god).

"You knew them first," she pointed out.

"Yeah, and they weren't that horrible until you spoiled them".

"I was feeling nostalgic," she replied truthfully, "all my stuff was destroyed by reapers, so getting exact replicas and passing them on to the nearest kid felt right". 

He looked unimpressed. She was too, honestly. 

It fell into an awkward silence. They'd finished their set out plan - get Clint to shower and eat and now it was awkward again. She didn't really know what to do. What she wanted to do. 

Thankfully, someone called her on her terminal. She left Clint in the kitchen with a stern glare at the dog.

It was Jack. She was on shore leave on the Citadel and wanted to spar and discuss some kind of training session with her students. That sounded nice. They set a date and place and then Jack disconnected to do something with her kids because she was always busy now. 

When she got back to the kitchen, Clint was gone. And the dog. How the hell had he gotten a dog into the vents? 

He'd left a brief scribbled in his awkward, indecipherable chicken scratches: _**Thanks sorry im such an ass.**_

Probably the most apology she'd ever get out of him. She didn't really mind though, she had a feeling that whatever had happened, he hadn't done it against her, but against himself. 

She sighed and wrote out her door code and shoved it into the vent over her kitchen. Hopefully he'd get that and understand that doors were…kind of useful.


	30. Vents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And made up Asari food because I refuse to believe everyone in the Milky Way eats sushi. 
> 
> Mentions of child abuse, stalking, transphobia, transphobic slurs

Lucky wanted to visit Natasha again. Apparently her pizza was better than the crap stuff he'd buy whenever he could. Cheap pizza was still pizza. She was going to spoil his dog just like she'd spoiled Kate.

Ok. Clint wanted to visit Natasha again. 

But, the thought of doing it again was terrifying. What was he supposed to do, waltz and demand she feed him again like the needy fuck-up he was? 

Instead, he sat in the vent over the kitchen and observed her.

She'd given him a lot to think about. She said she'd been selfish and whatever, but he felt like the idiot who forgot that she came out of a freaking child-torture station. Of course she couldn't do everything. Of course survival would be important to her. 

But he had a habit of messing everything up, so it was safer to keep things at a distance. 

Even with the knowledge that she had been wearing a necklace with his symbol on it while staging the biggest coup of the century. Yeah, that was getting romantic, he would mess this up, best to stay in the vents.

He watched as she drank tea and read books and worked out and gave Kate a whole new set of comic books and made Jack ridiculously strong coffee and did suspicious things on her terminal. A couple times, she looked directly at the vent, so he had a feeling his cover was blown, but he kept coming back anyways. She'd been the first person ever to spot him anyways, there was no fooling Natasha Romanoff. 

She left food there for him sometimes too. What was she getting out of spending resources on a stalker?

He was crawling back to where he'd left Lucky when he saw another person crawling directly towards him. Shit. There wasn't any junctions in between them and backtracking would mean trapping himself in the dead end of a residential distract. 

Fine. Two weirdos crawling around in the vents. The other person was probably just as scared as him. He moved forward.

Once the person was closer, he realized he recognized…her. The journalist who had broken Shepard's story and started all those videos and things. What was her name again? Didn't matter.

What mattered was that she looked terrified out of her mind. And, considering current sentiments of certain humans on the Citadels, it wasn't too hard to figure out why.

"You all right?" he asked.

She said something unintelligible. Smart one Clint. If you have trouble processing noise, you're not going to understand someone that far away in a vent that distorts sound. He crawled closer. 

"I remember you," the journalist said, "you tried to kill the council".

"And thankfully didn't succeed," he didn't have time to think about that. Save it for later, "and I remember you too, why are you in the vents?"

"I could ask you the same thing," her eyes narrowed, "another councilmember to kill?"

"Udina was enough," more than enough.

"I thought Shepard was behind that".

"Why are we having a conversation in vents?" this was getting ridiculous.

"Because some assholes are chasing me," she snapped, "so if you'd just let me escape".

"You get cornered if you go in the that direction," he pointed out. 

"And you'd know that…?

How to explain?

"Because I spend a lot of time in this region," he tried to sound…trustworthy. 

"If I go the other way, they might have followed me in here," she wasn't convinced.

He couldn't really let one of his own die or get captured or whatever just because he didn't have all his brains. Natasha was going to kill him for this. 

"Look, I know I seem like an utter creeper and there's that whole business with the council - though, in my defense, I was brainwashed then," he tried to explain himself, "but I'm trans and I'm not about to let some assholes catch you".

She eyed him carefully, "What do you suggest?"

"First, we go visit a friend," he turned around and hoped she'd follow him. 

***

Natasha didn't even look surprised when he dropped out of her ceiling. Annoyed yes. Surprised no.

"I gave you my door code for a reason," she commented icily and stood with her hands on her hips, watching while he helped Emily out of the vent, "where's the dog? And what stray are you bringing into my apartment now?"

"Emily, Nat, Nat, Emily," he turned to Natasha, "can I borrow a gun?"

She looked at him in shock and then moved towards one of her drawers. 

"You, um, don't have to kill anyone for me," Emily commented behind him, "this is probably enough to keep them from getting me".

"But they're going to keep coming," Clint hated cis people sometimes, "We have to give them something to fear".

Natasha shoved a pistol into his hand, "Do you need back up?"

He worked alone. Or well, he had. 

"Wouldn't mind a hand," he knew he'd regret that and turned to Emily, "where did you enter the vents?"

"Eastern side of the lower wards?" she guessed, "Really, murder's not my thing…"

"It's definitely mine," Natasha smirked, "I assume this has to do with your transness?"

"Oh shit," Emily's eyes widened, "I remember your video".

Clint had never actually gotten around to seeing it. But apparently it was terrifying. That was all he knew. 

"That wasn't an empty threat," Natasha informed her, "I'll lock you in, you should be safe here".

Why the hell was she taking charge? Clint tried to keep his hold on the situation.

"If I take the vents and you take ground, we should be able to corner them," he figured, "You should call Angel and Rhys, make sure they stay in". 

"Why am I making the calls?" 

"Because I really don't want to have that conversation just yet," he admitted. ("Oh hello, yeah, I dropped off the face of the Earth, well citadel, because my mind is fucked up, you really don't want me near your kid"). 

She smiled at him, "I'll see you in the wards".

He swung himself back into the vents, Natasha just stood there watching him.

"What?" he poked his head back through her ceiling.

She put on an innocent expression.

"You were staring at me," he pushed, "and i know you're not interested in my ass."

"I've never actually seen you in action," she shrugged, "everyone told me you were good, but seeing it is different".

"I don't really think climbing through vents is action," he pointed out and put the casing back on the vent to ensure no one could track Emily there. 

It was true, wasn't it? He'd spent a week stalking her, watching her do her work and then he'd stumbled into the middle of it a couple times (and kind of knocked her out during it), but she'd never really seen him do much more than get his arms melted off. 

Good reminder that, no matter how it felt, they'd known each other less than a year. Put the whole brainwashing and recovery thing in perspective.

Couldn't really think about that right now. He had a job to do, and a gun. Hopefully that gun wasn't in the wrong hands. 

***

The goons were arguing over who was going to go into the vent. Seriously. How long had it been? Clearly people who'd never had much hinging on one of their missions. 

"Hey boys, what are you arguing about?" he heard Natasha approach them and he took the opportunity of their distraction to fit himself in the hole in the ceiling. They were close, good, aim was always a bit worse with a pistol.

"Have to go into the vent to catch a tranny," one of the guys muttered. Ouch.

"I don't think I can let you do that," Natasha glanced casually up at the vent for a moment, he caught her eye and nodded, "I'm pretty sure I made a vow about that somewhere".

"Holy shit, she's the one that's protecting them," another one of the goons piped.

"Very good," her smile was lethal, "I make good on my promises, you threaten my friends, I hunt you down and shoot you".

"Well, are you going to shoot us?" a goon asked, "We'll shoot back". 

Some of the goons drew weapons. Awkwardly. They weren't trained. Were they stupid? Or did they just not know exactly how dangerous Natasha would be when she stopped talking? Blinded by hatred. 

God, he hated the galaxy.

Natasha didn't raise a weapon, "I was thinking I'd leave that to my friend actually, poetic justice and all that".

"Wait, who else is here?" the goons looked around in panic. 

Heh. Clint shot the closes one in the foot. The kickback nearly knocked him on his back. Shit, he was out of practice. 

He managed to regain his composure before they spotted him.

"Next time it will be your head," he waved the gun at them, "all of your heads. Get lost. Don't try playing Alliance because we're both trained above Alliance standards".

They ran off. Clint ignored Natasha's offered hand and dropped out of the vent. 

"Now will you consider using the door?" she raised her eyebrows at him.

"Have to get the dog first," Lucky was somewhere in the upper wards, he hoped, "dog likes doors a lot more than vents".

"Hawkeye hates Lucky," she followed him up the stairs.

"Well, I'm terrified of Hawkeye," he shrugged, "that's kind of fair".

He turned a corner and ran right into an asari.

"Um, sorry," he backed away, and oh, this was Samara, "also, nice to see you". 

"I was hoping I'd run into," Samara said, "I miss our times together".

It was so long ago, he barely remembered it. But yeah, it had been nice.

"I'll go let Emily out," Natasha interrupted, "you should come back to the apartment later, and use the door".

"I'd love to catch up with you too, Natasha," Samara replied, "you do not have to leave".

Natasha glanced at Clint for a moment as if to gauge something - whether he wanted to be alone with Samara? Whether he could be? Whether he'd actually go back to the apartment?

He didn't know the answer either, so he shrugged. 

"I have some things to take care of," Natasha said, "but if you're around the Citadel for a bit, I'd love to catch up another time".

Samara nodded and Natasha melted into the crowd behind them (of course she had to keep using her spy skills when she wasn't spying). 

Samara was staring at him and Clint wasn't quite sure what to say. It was awkward. Thanks for battling a reaper inside my head? Sorry I haven't been meditating because I'm scared it might dislodge the balance I've carefully formed between sanity and crazy and any shift might knock me over the edge? How are you?

"Have you been eating?" Samara asked him.

"Uh yeah?" Natasha had left him a sandwich in the vent earlier that afternoon and he'd found some leftovers behind the Salarian delicatessen for breakfast. 

"You look malnourished," she informed him, "come, let's go eat. The Citadel is the only place with edible lathe outside Thessia".

Wait. Was that why Natasha was so obsessed with feeding him? He didn't realize he looked that bad. Like yeah, he was hungry sometimes, but it wasn't like when he was a kid or anything…

"I've never had lathe," he admitted.

"Well, then, you must definitely try it," Samara extended her hand, "it is delicious, though maybe not for humans".

"I eat pretty much anything," he shrugged. 

Samara led him down a few corridors to a slightly shinier part of the wards, where the asari food stand was. He'd watch the lathe maker before, it seemed to be some kind of street food, like a mix of crepes and falafel, but because it was made individually, he'd never been able to grab the leftovers and it was a bit pricey for him to buy legally. 

Equipped with two burning balls of aluminum foil, Samara led him to a bench a little ways away from the crowds.

He stared at the ball of…mush? And tried to figure out how to eat it.

"Use your hands," Samara pick up a piece delicately in her fingers, "it doesn't stick like human food".

Oh. Ok. 

It was actually kind of good. Weird. Crumbly but moist and tasted like nothing he'd ever had before. 

"This why you're on the Citadel then?" he asked, "to get Asari street food?"

She shook her head, "I'm meeting with the council on behalf of the justicars".

"Thought you all were loners," he stuffed some more lathe in his mouth and decided he liked it.

"It's been a hard war," Samara said softly, "sometimes the Code requires we cooperate."

How anyone could keep track of such a complicated code was beyond Clint's understanding. Even if his brain was intact, he probably couldn't fit the pieces together. 

"Clint," she turned towards him slightly, "how are you?"

He shrugged, "ok, I guess."

"I've been inside your head," she reminded him, "I know when you're lying".

"Well, that's kind of awkward," he considered, "thanks for that, by the way, I appreciate not being some extension of a reaper."

"You were the one that fought the real battle, I only helped," she folded up her foil into a neat square, "your mind is stronger than you think."

"You clearly didn't take a good look around," he muttered and continued eating, how had Samara finished hers so quickly? It was good, but definitely not designed for quick eating, what with the bits that kept rolling off the foil onto the ground, lost forever.

"I lost another daughter," her voice was pained.

A thousand years of sorrow. Clint couldn't begin to imagine. 

"I'm sorry," he tried to be comforting.

"I'm not," she responded, "Rila died a hero. Morinth died fighting for her liberty. I cannot continue to live a life of regret."

Clint made a comforting kind of noise. He kind of wished he could do more. Parents shouldn't have to lose their kids like that, no matter the reason, no matter how they died. 

"Well, that's enough ramblings of an old lady," she grinned at him and tossed her foil into the waste disposal, "anything good news on your end of the war?"

"I have a dog that eats pizza," he figured, "that's about all."

"You're still alive," her hand reached out and touched his arm gently, almost hesitantly, "that takes more strength than I can even begin to imagine".

"I guess we'll never quite get each other," he shrugged, "living for a thousand years sounds like hell."

"Sometimes it is," she responded, "sometimes you get moments like this".

"Like this?" there was nothing exciting about a bench on the Citadel.

"Enjoying good food with a friend in a quiet place," she leaned back, "it's what will keep me going when I'm in the frontlines fighting reapers."

"Don't die, Samara," he decided, "the galaxy would kind of suck without you".

"I can't promise that," she sighed, "and neither can you."

No, he couldn't. 

But he could try this surviving thing. Maybe. 

***

He went back to Natasha's. He used the door and everything. It was an experiment - try to recover and survive long enough to see if it actually changed anything. 

Natasha was sitting on the couch, pulling a bullet out of her leg. 

"What the hell happened to you?" he closed the door behind him and crouched down to keep Lucky from charging her. 

"Dog goes in the kitchen with the door closed," she hissed slightly with pain, "I told you, it scares Hawkeye".

Yeah, yeah, stupid python. He apologized to Lucky and shut him in the kitchen.

"Now will you tell me what happened?" 

"One of those goons was actually trained," she muttered, "tracked me, took advantage of our separation to hit. My guard was down, it was stupid, but he and his friends definitely look worse than this."

She said the last part with triumph. 

"Ouch," he sat down on the other end of the couch, "sorry you got caught up in that".

"Kind of wish I killed all of them," she commented angrily. 

"So, you did kill some of them?" he had to admit it was a bit shocking, "I wasn't aware we were out to hunt and kill people now?"  
"They're out to kill, sometimes you have to take on your enemies' tactics," she shrugged, "we've started a war, whether we like it or not".

Except it wasn't really her war. She could back out any time she liked. No consequence. Lucky cis person. 

"It's better than the Purge," he'd never experienced it. He'd been born around the same time that the Binary Legalities were published. And he almost believed he had no family because he had no memory of being kicked out, only what it was like to live in hiding. But still, the memory of it, the scars. It was horrible. At least this time they were fighting back.

"Most things are better than genocide," she finished the medigel pack and rolled down her pant leg.

True. But the reapers would probably succeed at that before the transphobic goons would. 

Caring about the galaxy was hard.

"I should probably get back in shape," he figured, "you know, in case the reapers come here". 

She tossed him something, "You still have my pistol". 

It was a membership card to an arena and a shooting range, "Where did you get this?"

She smirked, "I posed as Miranda and stole it, it's where she and Garrus go on dates".

"I don't even want to know," he decided. 

"It's not that bad," she swivelled in her seat, "they just shoot holographic vorcha".

"I meant why you were posing as Miri," he corrected.

"I was bored".

Fair enough. 

She said something so quietly that he couldn't hear her, he lowered his eyebrows in confusion.

_Are you going to stay this time?_ She signed, _not just disappear again?_

Oh. He hadn't given it much thought.

Except she was stimming, spinning her ring. He should have probably seen that before. He hadn't really thought that his disappearances might upset her 

He guess he could stay. At least for one night. Figure out tomorrow when tomorrow happened. He nodded.


	31. The Refuge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for transphobia and mind control

"Tali shouldn't be here".

Shepard glanced up at Garrus, "Why not?"

She'd been wondering about that actually. Tali and Garrus had been best friends before she got arrested and then boom, she's out and they barely say a word to each other.

Shepard was quite pleased to see Tali, she was a good friend. 

"Her ideals don't match our goals," Garrus was tense, "She should stay while we do this shit for the quarians but I don't want her around longer".

"Since when have you been in charge of personnel?" Shepard was starting to worry, "What happened to make you two so hostile towards each other?"

"She said some things I don't want to repeat," he muttered, "things you shouldn't have to hear".

"Are you seriously trying to protect me?"

Of all the most ridiculous things she'd heard, someone protecting her was the most.

"I know you're strong Shepard," he replied, "I just, they're things I don't really want to say either".

"What did she say, Garrus?" she sighed. She wasn't quite ready to make a decision. She needed the facts. He knew that. He couldn't just get someone thrown off the Normandy for personal reasons. 

"She might have said it would be better if all trans humans were killed," he muttered savagely, "to Miranda".

"Then why's she on my ship in the first place and talking to me?" Why hadn't someone allegedly that hateful killed her already?

"I don't know," he shook his head, "but I don't like it". 

"What I don't like is how separated we are," Shepard hated memories, "we used to be so close and now, here we are, just hating each other".

"You upset the balance," he sat down on her desk (on top of the data pad she had been studying before he came in), "it changes things, you know, having you openly be a thing the Alliance wants to crush."

"So I shouldn't have come out?" she lashed out, "just stay nice and safe and closeted for the rest of my life because then my friends don’t think I'm better off dead".

"No," Garrus was hurt, "I just…there's going to be consequences and not all of them are going to be pretty. I don't want to see you hurt".

"I already am," she picked up a different data pad, "that happened a long time ago when my parents kicked me out of their happy family. Death threats are just a nice bit of frosting on top".

She knew she should be more upset, scared, hurt. But honestly? She just felt a dim sort of nostalgia for the SR-1, back before she died and everything got a whole lot more confusing. Back when there was only one reaper to worry about instead of the billions blotting out the sky and darkening all of her thoughts whether she wanted them there or not.   
She needed someone who had their shit together a little bit more than she did. 

Shepard went to her terminal and found Peggy.

"Hey Commander, make it quick, I have a date". 

"Sounds nice," Shepard leaned back slightly, "think you could manufacture an emergency? Just enough to force a visit soon?"

"Well, there is that Cerberus agent I've been meaning to tell you about," Peggy smirked, "she seems to have the same capabilities as Romanoff, it's honestly quite eerie, we have her subdued right now, but you should come take a look before that wears off. I'd give it, say, a week? Tops."

How much of that was true? 

"We'll try to stop by soon," Shepard promised.

Peggy cut off.

"I thought whats-her-name was basically catatonic," Garrus commented from her desk. 

Wait. Seriously? "Does everyone know about this person but me?"

"Miranda just mentioned it once," he shrugged, "I wouldn't know the details, but they would have told you before now if it was bad, what's your game?"

"No offense Garrus," she turned to him, "but you're not the person I need to be talking to right now. And the person who's helped me through the past few steps has gone missing".

His mandibles tightened. Shit. She shouldn't have mentioned that. She knew how worried he was about Miranda.

"She's going to be fine, Garrus," even she knew her words were a lie, Miranda was good, she was perfect, but she couldn't work miracles. 

"Yeah," his voice was hollow. 

Fuck that. Miranda was going to be fine. They were all going to be fine. 

***

Shepard brought Tali and Vega to Illium. She had thought about bringing Garrus, but there was a little too much tension between him and Tali. If she was going to do this in the most obnoxious way possible, she needed someone who would support her but could ease the tension. That meant Vega. 

Peggy met them at the docks on Illium, "I've been keeping her at the refuge, she's very quiet right now".

"The refuge?" she asked.

"When the Shadow Broker was hit by Cerberus, she had to abandon a couple of warehouses," Peggy led them down a side corridor, "when I had to evacuate the commune, it seemed best to move them into one of those because, well, integrating like Angel and Rhys are trying is really quite hard, and Illium has a no refugee policy to protect business interests". 

"What's the commune?" Tali asked. Shepard tried to figure out if it was innocent or not. Honestly, she was just acting on hearsay, this was a test, not a judgement. Tali had been nothing but polite (though slightly annoyed at the emergency departure from the Migrant Fleet) since her return. 

Peggy raised her eyebrows at Shepard, she nodded. First test.

"The commune is where most trans humans lived before the reapers attacked Palaven," Peggy turned them briskly down another corridor.

Tali stayed silent. 

"Why are you keeping a potentially dangerous operative with civilians?" Shepard still didn't quite understand what this excuse was.

"She's one of us," Peggy replied simply, "Romanoff's been here a few times, but we haven't been able to figure out what's wrong. It was Miranda and Jack that took her down in the first place".

"Are all of you…trans?" Tali's voice cut into the information.

That was awkward.

"I'm not," James grinned at her. 

Shepard barely heard the "Thank god" muttered into her suit. But still, it wasn't the open hostility Garrus was mentioning. She wasn't convinced. Or maybe she was just trying to see what she wanted to see. She didn't know. 

"Have I met her?" she turned back to Peggy.

She shook her head, "The name Eva may ring a bell?"

Oh. The one that was always on secret Cerberus business, "it does".

"She died too," Peggy stopped at a door, "now she's Dorothy Underwood, Dottie, if you like, and yes, I named her".

Seriously?

"Did you name her that just to piss off Barton?" Shepard raised her eyebrows.

"Maybe," Peggy smiled at her and then punched in the door code. And then another one. And then another one.

"High security," Vega commented.

"You can never be too careful," Peggy shrugged, "there was another attempted lynching on the Citadel".

"Who?" attempted meant no one died, right?

"The journalist, what was her name…?"

"Emily," Shepard's mouth went dry.

"She's fine, don't worry," Peggy pushed open the door, "our friendly neighborhood homeless man struck again".

"Glad he's still alive," Shepard entered the space.

Tali leaned towards Vega and whispered, "What are they talking about?"

"No idea," Vega whispered back, "there was a lynching, but I lost them around the homeless guy".

"That is because this is our domain," Peggy stared them down, "cis people don't get explanations here unless we feel like giving them". 

"That's very welcoming," Tali crossed her arms.

"Considering that the minute we walk out that door, we run the risk of being murdered, I think it's fair," Peggy smiled sweetly.

Shepard took in the scene in front of her, it wasn't the commune, she knew that, Zen was dead, Angel and Rhys and Kate were on the Citadel, the wanderers weren't coming back, but it still hit her. That place she'd been able to call home for a month was gone. Damn.

But there was Mara over in a corner writing something and Anik mending someone's clothing and Hallen and Brent were cooking. They were still there, they were still alive. 

Anik turned and saw her, "Good to see you, Commander", he smiled.

"You too," she said, "heard you're having some trouble with one of your own?"

"Yeah, Ev…Dottie," ze shrugged, "it's a bit scary, I hope she's all right, is that why you're here?"

Shepard nodded. 

A smallish quarian came out of one of the structures in the back wall.

Tali gasped, "Anji!" 

The quarian looked up, "Tali?"

Now Shepard was the one at a loss.

"What am I missing?" she muttered at Peggy.

"Well, Anji's my girlfriend," Peggy's brow furrowed, "the other one's kind of annoying, why do you keep her around?"

"Friendship," Shepard took advantage of Tali's distraction, "she's fought with me for a while. Not quite sure what to do with her".

"And that's why you're here?" Peggy's eyes bored into her, "you brought a known transphobe into the commune because you didn't know how to say goodbye to your friend?"

"You've lived on the outside for less than a year," Shepard muttered, "you've made all your friends without ever having to lie. Don't you dare tell me it's that easy to say goodbye to a friend".

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" Peggy hissed at her, "no one here's been on the outside for any length of time besides Dottie, and she's catatonic. You need Miranda."

"Miranda's been off the grid since Cerberus attacked the Citadel". 

"Oh," Peggy fell quiet.

"Peggy, I'm so sorry," the other quarian, Anji?, turned towards them, "Tali just got here and I'm just dying to show her around Illium, Dottie's stable, we'll just pop off to the diner and I'll see you later?"

"This is my sister, Commander," Tali looked fierce, even through the mask, "I understand if you need me here, but I would like a chance to catch up".

"Wait, your sister?" Shepard had never heard about that.

"She is the daughter of Admiral Raan," Tali explained, "as much my sister as anyone from birth". 

Shepard and Peggy looked at each other in relief.

"Go, Tali," she said, "I'll call you if I need to, tell Traynor I may need a back-up squad member". 

"Thank you Shepard," she and Anji left. 

"She is not welcome back," Peggy glared at Shepard, "and what about this guy?"

"I'm, um," James shifted backwards a bit, "James? And is your name seriously Peggy Carter? Is everyone Marvel characters?"

"He's fine," Shepard said, at least he better be.

"Let's go meet your excuse then," Peggy turned towards the back wall.

***

Dottie wasn't much. A quiet, cooperative girl in shock.

Shepard had seen it before. Hell, Shepard had been there before.

"I wish I could be more helpful," Dottie looked up at her with round eyes, but she didn't give any more explanation.

"Look," Shepard kept her distance, "I know you do, but your friends here are scared you're going to blow and kill them all and I'd like to reassure them if I can?"

"But I might...kill them all," Dottie stared at her bed, thinking for a long time, "there's something about that."

"You think Cerberus is controlling you somehow?" 

She nodded. And then her face went blank, "I'm sorry, who are you again?"

Shit.

***

"Does she talk about killing a lot?" she asked Peggy.

Peggy shook her head.

"What about forgetting who you are?"

"That's a pretty common trait of shock, isn't it?" Peggy looked concerned.

Not like that. Not that immediate. It was more like a jumble of threads and fuzziness, a constant struggle, not an abrupt, immediate stop in the middle of a conversation.

"I wouldn't rule out mind control," she admitted, "do you have any idea if they could plant a chip in her head or something?"

"Don't ask me, I'm not a scientist," Peggy looked lost.

If it was brain control, they knew Shepard had been with Dottie, which meant she had to leave quickly.

Or what if this was a trap? The commune, they worked with Cerberus. They wouldn't do it out of spite, but if they were threatened, had coming here been an even worse mistake?

"I should go," she decided. They couldn't track her on the Normandy, right?

Peggy turned and observed her for a moment, "You don't trust me".

"No," Shepard shook her head, "but I wouldn't blame you either".

"None of us really trusted Miranda," Peggy said, "but there's one this she taught us and one thing that stuck - we don't hurt our own. Ever. That's the only reason why Dottie's here and not dead wherever it is that she tracked Miranda to. We stick together."

It was nice in theory.

"I grew up in a warehouse with people who only watched their own back," Shepard held her gaze steady, "forgive me if that's a little too idealistic to understand".

Peggy shrugged, "Suit yourself, but you're always welcome here. You know that, right?" 

"Yeah," Shepard sighed. She did. She had a family. She had a community. She had people who understood. She wished she could come back.

She motioned to Vega, who was distracting the people in the makeshift kitchen, and he waved goodbye to his new friends and fell into place behind her, "Leaving already?"

"There's a chance we've been compromised," she said, "We need to get out".

She turned to Peggy, "If you can get her to the Citadel, Doctor Michel is helping out with the refugees".

Peggy nodded, "We'll work on it". 

Figuring out what to do about Tali would have to wait.

They still Rannoch to free first.


	32. Mulla Xul System

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: vague reference to suicide, spiders, misgendering/transphobia

Shepard called Miranda back at the worst possible time. Of course. There was an assassin on the roof and another tied up in the closet and she had max ten minutes, but Miranda had wanted to talk to Shepard, hear her voice. The information about Oriana was secondary - her father was in deep with Cerberus, so deep he probably didn't even know how screwed he was, but Miranda would get him, no one touched her sister without her permission.

Really, she just needed to talk to someone who didn't want to kill her, which was something that hadn't happened in a while. Shepard was good for that.

Though the whole "be careful" thing was bullshit, they both new it was a war, careful wasn't possible. Still, the platitude was nice, Shepard cared enough to say it. 

Now she had to deal with the assassin in the closet. She should probably kill him, considering he probably heard her conversation with Shepard, but killing was so blunt, she preferred to do things a little more delicately.

She opened the closet and yanked the guy out. He was strangely calm. And that was because he'd found a knife in the closet. Damn. Who kept knives in their closet? So much for subtlety, Miranda punched him and then shot his brains out...for good measure. 

Of course the one on the roof thought the gun shot was a cue. Miranda didn't want to fight, she wanted to get out and get to Horizon and save Oriana. She had to stay alive long enough for that, which meant not drawing too much attraction to herself, and maybe leading the assassins that wanted to kill her astray. 

She dove back into the tunnel that had led her to the hideout right as a shot rang out. That was too close, dammit, and the assassin probably knew where it was.

Could it really be Leng like Shepard had mentioned? She'd have to change her method then, he was heartless. Soulless. A killing machine. No, if Leng was after her, they wouldn't have sent multiple assassins, he was after Shepard. A whole bunch of Cerberus grunts were after her. Honestly, she'd much prefer her lot than Shepard's.

She raced through the tunnels and took a random turn, wishing fervently for a map. The footsteps following her paused at the turn and then kept going. At least there was that.

Miranda picked her way more slowly through the caves. She didn't even know what planet she was on, it had just been a frantic rush from the Cerberus hideout to the first thing her shuttle banged into. She couldn't go back to the hideout or the shuttle, they'd be waiting for her. She might be lost in these tunnels forever, she might die of starvation, maybe even exhaustion, before she found another exit. 

She couldn't think like that. 

The tunnel opened up into a great cavern, she approached cautiously. Something rustled.

"is anyone there?" she made sure her guns were all still in place. 

Suddenly, the cavern was filled with light and she found herself facing a giant spider.

Rachni. Shit.

Miranda stared. The spider, Rachni (but it looked like a spider), stared back. Well, this was definitely a new adventure. 

"I'm very sorry to interrupt you," she tried, "I mean you know harm, I'd just like a way out of these tunnels that won't get me killed in the process".

She wasn't even sure if the rachni understood her, did they have ears? They sang and communicated telepathically. But maybe they could hear.

Very slowly, the rachni lifted one if its legs and pointed to the back corner of the cavern, there was another tunnel.

"Thank you," Miranda inclined her head in case the rachni couldn't understand her words and hurried through the tunnel. 

***

The tunnel opened up to the assassins' abandoned shuttle and Miranda made a mental note to send flowers, or maybe something a little more spidery considering that that rachni had definitely just saved her a great deal of pain and trial.

It wasn't too difficult to jumpstart the shuttle and figure out where she was. Maldor.

No Mass Relay, no fuel depot. She was still a little too close to an assassin for comfort, regardless of randomly kind rachni. 

She could send out a distress signal, but that would catch the remaining assassin's attention. She could try to make it to the fuel depot in the next system, but the likelihood of ending up drifting in a shell without power or life support was a little too high. 

Or she could go back to the Cerberus base on Inakhos and refuel there. The most wanted person showing up right on their doorstep. She'd have to give them something to remember.

***

"No!"

It was a muffled shout behind many doors but it made Miranda's heart jump into her mouth. She had assumed that Ori wouldn't be kept on base, that she would already be on Horizon (at least that's where the intel said her father's operations were). 

But that was definitely Oriana's voice.

Good thing she had chosen to come back to the base.

She edged along the wall to see if she could hear better, but nothing clear came out. And then she looked up and saw a vent.

She had too many memories of crawling around vents in the commune trying to find wherever the terrible threesome of Carol, Eva and Clint, had chosen to hide to avoid emotions (and an even worse memory of having to drag Clint's body through those same vents). She hated vents, but she knew how useful they were. 

A quick glance to make sure no one would waltz around a corner and see her degrading fall into the vents and she pulled herself into the opening over her head. It was cramped and dusty and she hated it and she wore a white uniform so she'd have an excuse not to do these things dammit. 

Miranda crawled down the tube in the direction she thought the voices were coming from. Maybe. Noise was kind of distorted in the vent. 

Yes. She stopped. She could hear.

"I'm not going anywhere until you explain everything," that was Ori's voice. Miranda grinned slightly.

"I am your father," that was her father roaring and being an imbecile. 

"My father is dead because of you".

"He was a substitute, a fake, easily removed and unimportant, now stop arguing with me, girl".

Ori's family was wonderful. How could he even dare to say such a thing? 

Had she lost both of her parents? They'd been with her since Miranda found them when she was eight. That must be hard. Miranda had to get Ori out of there as soon as possible. Her one goal had been to keep Ori away from their father, keep her from living Miranda's childhood. 

Ori was better than that. 

"What's going on at this Sanctuary then?" Ori's voice was cold, "it seems to be a little more than a nice resort for rich people, and don't lie to me, I know this is Cerberus, I saw the logos on your uniform".

"The Illusive Man has great plans to control the reapers and win the war, that is all you need to know."

"And I fit into this, how?"

"Because you are my one and only daughter".

"Really? Because I'm pretty sure you made a lot of us test tube children and at least one of them is very much alive".

"You are my one and only daughter, all of my others have been boys".

He was still able to hurt her when he didn't even know she was there. Miranda gritted her teeth and keep listening. This was important. Oriana seemed to be her father's weakness (last of the line?), he was talking, making sense of the intel she had gathered earlier. Now would not be a good time to strike. At least not until she had everything. 

But she still was going to strike, wasn't she? She wasn't going to let this asshole spend more time with Ori than was completely necessary. 

But that would be risking a lot of lives. She needed this data and she needed to get it to Shepard and the Alliance and the Council, anyone that could listen, anyone that could save the galaxy from the Illusive Man. 

She wasn't Shepard. She didn't make sacrifices. She would never die for someone else. She couldn't choose the right path if it meant losing one person. She was selfish. She might even be the ruin of the galaxy. Oriana still came first. 

"Well then, what are you going to do when your nonexistent other daughter starts to exist?" Ori's voice held steady. 

Miranda could imagine the stubborn expression on her face. She was so beautiful. So perfect. (Miranda was supposed to be perfect, Oriana actually was). 

"If you're talking about Operative Lawson, don't worry, she should be dead".

That sounded like as good a cue as any. Miranda opened the vent and jumped out, "You might want to check on the status of your assassins first". 

"Miri!" Oriana's face lit up and Miranda felt a twist of guilt. She should have left. She should have gone and amassed an army and taken down this Sanctuary. She wasn't the wonderful miracle Ori thought she was, just…human.

"Well, look at the prodigal son back to claim some of my glory," her father was so drunk on his power, it was disgusting.

"I'm just here to get my sister," she lifted the gun to his head, "if you stop me, I shoot".

"We can't just leave," Oriana spoke behind her, "we have to know what he's planning".

"All right then," Miranda passed her one of her pistols and turned back to her father, "start talking. Tell us about Sanctuary. I have enough data to know when you're lying and you will die."

The coward started talking.

***

"We need to go to Horizon," Oriana had been a broken record since they had left the Cerberus base, "why are we still heading to Illium?"

"We don't need to go to Horizon," Miranda responded, "I do. You're going to meet some of my friends who can keep you safe."

"No," she crossed her arms, "just because I'm younger than you doesn't mean I'm incapable, he's my father too."

"And you're my sister, and I'm not going to let you die," Miranda focused on steering the ship. 

Ori turned to her, "I could say the same to you".

"I contacted Shepard already," Miranda shrugged, "we're going to talk about getting me Alliance resources, is that enough reassurance?"

"Not really," Ori lifted her chin stubbornly, "I have to see it to believe it".

Ori was worse than Clint when she got stubborn, and Miranda had a lot less experience with her. Why the hell did she know some random kid who happened to share a single experience with her than her own sister?

Why couldn't she just know Ori? Be the older sister she actually was? Have a real family and not one that bonded due to survival?

She shouldn't think of the network as that. They were family. Regardless of blood. Still, it was hard not to wonder how Ori fit into it. She wanted Ori to fit into it. 

"Look," Miranda sighed, "we have to be strategic about this. We need those Alliance resources. So, just, meet my friends…my…other family, and I'll stop by before you go and you can decide then, ok?"

"Your other family?" Ori raised her eyebrows, "thought I was your sister."

"My trans family," Miranda tried to stay calm, Ori knew, of course, their father was an idiot, but they'd never talked about it, "it's hard being alone".

"Fine, go to the Citadel alone," Ori slumped into her chair, "but I'm not promising to like them".

"I never said you had to," Miranda adjusted her course so they were heading directly towards Illium.

***

"Last I heard you had completely disappeared," Peggy stared at her warily, "and this is the fabled sister, I take it?"

"And you're the fabled adopted family then?" Ori lifted her chin stubbornly, "my name is Oriana".

Peggy laughed, "I like you a lot better than your sister, Oriana".

Miranda brushed past her as they entered, "I'll take that as a personal insult".

Peggy crossed her arms, but smiled anyways, "I like knowing you're alive".

"You'll know when I'm dead," Miranda rolled her eyes, "I'm expecting a grand funeral".

Peggy narrowed her eyes, "Why are you here?"

"I was hoping you could put Ori up for a little while?" Miranda knew it was a tight request, "there's some…difficulties I need to look into at the Citadel".

"Why does everyone think this is a good place to bring cis people?" Peggy looked slightly disgusted. 

"I understand," Miranda understood too well, "but I was hoping this was a place I could bring family".

Peggy glanced over to a corner where a quarian was talking with Mara and nodded, "Your sister's welcome here, your father is not".

"Our father isn't welcome anywhere," Ori rolled her eyes, "thanks, I'll be out of your hair soon enough".

Peggy smiled slightly and then turned serious, "Are you really heading to the Citadel?"

Miranda nodded.

"I sent Ev…Dottie there, Shepard was fearing mind control," she spoke quietly, "she's at Huerta with Doctor Michel, if you could check in on her?"

Definitely. Miranda nodded again.

"Also," Peggy paused, "I know it's useless to worry, but Clint…"

"What about him?" Miranda suddenly felt exactly how long she'd spent tracking hat Cerberus base.

"He hasn't surfaced recently," Peggy shrugged, "I've been tracking him through news articles".

"Then he's not dead," Miranda figured that was enough. 

"As I said," Peggy turned away, "it's useless to worry." 

"Anything else I should know?" how much had changed? Or not changed?

"Shepard has some transphobic quarian on her ship, but that shouldn't be your problem".

Except Tali was her problem. And Garrus was her problem. And she had to get to Horizon. And none of that made sense. 

"My problem is my family," she said quality, "that means doing this, but it also means Shepard."

But did it mean Garrus?

Dammit. She had been trying not to think about him. It would only make her lonely. She hated how much she missed him, how dependent she was on him as soon as she let herself think, "Garrus could be here". 

It didn't matter. Garrus wasn't here. She only had Oriana and the network, admittedly in crumbles, but still bound by trust. It was more than enough. She didn't need Garrus, right?

"Do you ever take a break?" Peggy looked worried.

"If you haven't noticed, we're in the middle of a war," Miranda spoke coldly, "breaks are a luxury I can't afford".

***

She allowed herself a single moment of guilt on her way to the Citadel.

Just one. A few minutes. That was all.

It was the moment Peggy had mentioned mind control, it was so obvious. Miranda now understood what they had done to Eva. Dottie.

Not with her ability to repel biotics. That she still didn't understand. 

But she knew how they were prolonging her shock, making her recovery impossible, making her a useful puppet. Controlling her.

Just like the control chip she had designed to put in Shepard. The one specifically designed so that it couldn't be removed without killing the person. 

Even now, she was working for Cerberus. She'd never be free of them. 

She was a fucking monster.


	33. And again...the Citadel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: references to sex and transphobia and unhealthy relationships

There was no way Shepard could have denied Miranda access to the resources. 

She was good, perfect even, but she was still one person. If she insisted on going at this highly dangerous secretive mission alone and without backup, it was the least Shepard could do. 

Even then, she was still worried. 

She'd just have to hope Miranda knew she could call or email or message if she wanted help. Shepard would be there in an instant. She owed that much to the person who brought her back to life. (She didn't think much of life, but it was nice to be alive at this instance, and Miranda was the only person to thank for that). 

"What have you been up to?" Garrus fell into step next to her as she made her way to the café that had French coffee, as in, stuff that didn't taste like it was made on a ship. 

"Enabling people in stupid behavior," she shrugged, "all in a day's work".

He stopped short. She passed him before realizing what had happened and turning, "What?"

He was staring…somewhere?

"She didn't even tell me she was here," he whispered. 

"How did you know who I was talking to?" 

"I didn't," he pointed in the distance to where a Miranda-shaped figure was talking to…someone? Shepard had no idea who it was, no wait, Dr. Michel, how could she not have recognized her?

"You could go say hi," she felt like an awkward mom or something, "she'd probably be happy to see you."

His mandibles weren't moving, "but why didn't she tell me? She always tells me when she's on the Citadel".

"She's about to do something incredibly stupid," Shepard failed at being comforting, "she has a lot on her plate".

"She didn't want me to know about whatever her plans on," he muttered darkly, "meaning, she's probably going to get herself killed".

"That is another option," Shepard decided. One that could easily be the truth. Ouch. 

Garrus' glare was very familiar. Except she was used to it being about her. Normally when she was drinking. Or had just tried to kill a reaper single-handedly. Things like that. 

It was nice to be off the hook for once. At least she had a team. He couldn't ever get that angry at her as long as she kept a back-up, right?

"Go talk to her," she nudged, "she probably wants to talk to you".

When had she become a person that gave relationship advice? 

"But what if…" he trailed off, suddenly self-conscious. 

"What if what?" Shepard glared at him, "she hates you? That's bullshit. Any person with eyes could see she'd tear about the galaxy for you…if, like, the reapers weren't already doing it".

"Why does she drop out of communication for so long then?" his mandibles still weren't moving, "why does she never give me a way to contact her? I just have to wait for her to contact me. I haven't seen her in weeks, months maybe, I can't keep track of it, it's been so long".

"She's a bit of a diva," Shepard shrugged, "and she's fighting about ten different battles. You have to cut her some slack".

"But what about me?" he turned, "don't I get any slack?"

Ummm.

"You're fighting a lot of battles too, Garrus," she moved slightly closer to him, "and you have people supporting you".

"And she has fucking nobody," he muttered, "but she won't let me support her. Ever."

"It took me a long time," Shepard shrugged, "trusting other people is hard".

Or did he not remember how they had definitely not been talking to each other when they both went and nearly died at the collector base?

"It's why I can't leave you alone," he said, "you'll go and get yourself killed".

"You know what?" Shepard was done with this conversation, "supporting someone is a bit different that whatever this faux-chivalrous thing is. Yeah, I'm not ok, you make that better, but do you actually think I am incapable of anything? Is that what this worry is? You're scared Miranda will die without you strong and brave right next to her, except you can't do that, because you have some weird obligation to me?"

"You're not incapable," his voice was tiny. 

"Go tell that to Miranda," she turned and left. 

***

Her entire life could be defined by location: Earth, Akuze, Eden Prime, Virmire…the list went on and on all the way to Thessia. Each location was accompanied by a battle, deaths, destruction, and always the same kind of commendation - as if in some way every dead body she left behind was a mark of her abilities. 

She probably should have chosen a different job. 

Or become one of those Alliance soldiers that saved people instead of killing them.

Yeah, that would be nice. 

She probably couldn't live with herself if anyone on her crew died. Which was pretty stupid considering they were trying to take the reapers head-on. Logically, she'd be lucky if one of them survived.

But still…

"You're looking awfully moody, Commander," Traynor took her queen. She did it every time. Shepard couldn't figure out how to avoid it, but it generally meant the game was over (honestly, it was over as soon as they started playing but she liked to pretend she had a chance for the beginning part). 

"Thessia's just put me on edge, that's all," she moved a piece at random, "Kai Leng's a bit of a bastard".

"He's a full grade bastard," Traynor moved a piece, "check".

"Why do you keep playing with me when it's always the same result?" Shepard wondered. 

"Check mate," she moved another piece, "we've already been over this, you're hot."

"The amount of patience you have for hot people astounds me," Shepard shook her head, "get your mind out of the gutter".

Garrus was hot. He also was a fucking idiot. 

"Could I put my mind in your shower then?" Traynor asked innocently.

Shepard tried not to fall for that adorable smile and failed, "Are you trying to get me naked?"

Traynor was hot too. And wasn't an idiot. 

"I wouldn't mind," Traynor pursed her lips, "though I'd rather not get on Garrus' bad side."

Wait what? "Garrus?"

"You shouldn't cheat on him," Traynor informed her seriously. 

Wait. What.

Shepard started laughing.

"You think Garrus…and I…are sleeping together?" she managed to wheeze out. What a hilarious notion.

"Well, he does spend most nights in your room," Traynor rolled her eyes, "that generally means something is going on".

"Maybe for you kids," Shepard tried to control her laughter, "not for us old hardened soldiers."

And definitely not until he straightened up and apologized for…something. She wasn't sure what. Just, his obsession with protecting her from the Big Bad World as if she was five. That. 

"What do old hardened soldiers do instead of sex?"

Traynor had a one track mind. 

"Drink mostly," Shepard shrugged, "discuss how depressing war is, it's pretty boring, honestly".

And why she liked spending time with Traynor. Traynor hadn't been destroyed by death and killing, she wasn't a soldier, she was still able to hope and dream and believe. Shepard would kill whoever took that away from her. Without mercy. People shouldn't have to live aiming directly for her death, like she did (like Garrus did, though he'd never admit it, that was probably part of the problem). 

"Well, if that's all," Traynor grinned cheekily, "would you mind if I took a shower?"

Honestly, Traynor in her shower sounded hot. 

Shepard hadn't thought like that in ages (not since…Liara…kind of). 

"Be my guest," she sat back, "my shower is yours".

Traynor moved her last piece, "Check mate."

***

She had been planning on getting in the shower with Traynor (she'd been practically invited in), but then Tali knocked on her door. 

Shit.

Shepard tried to keep it in the hall, but Tali pushed her way in, "Who's in the shower?"

"Now is not the best time," Shepard didn't answer, "is this a priority?"

Everything with Tali was tense and confusing and characterized by too much silence. She'd accepted after the trip to Illium that Tali still had a lot of learning to do, but she also hadn't run away screaming, she was still here, on the Normandy and Shepard hoped that meant something. The problem was that the longer they went without talking about the elephant in the room, the elephant got bigger, and the ability to talk about it got harder.

"Kind of," Tali stared at her, "I'd like to apologise".

"For what?"

"A lot of things," Tali shrugged, "I guess, for not trusting your judgement".

"Is this a specific thing or a generality?" Shepard was going to make her say it. 

"When you first made that video," Tali twisted her hands nervously, "I…assumed that the laws had been put in place for a reason, that you were doing something immature and personal to raise a stir, maybe even that some of Cerberus had rubbed off on you".

Shepard waited. 

"I should have trusted you," Tali said finally, "you're a better expert on humans than an old piece of legislation".

"That would be because I'm a human."

"The people who created the that legislation were human too," Tali reminded her, "I just…I thought, I guess I was angry at how much power you humans were gaining. I wanted something to be wrong with you."

"There's some deeply wrong with us," Shepard admitted, "if we think killing our own should ever be legal".

"Well there's definitely something wrong with me if the death of my best friend makes more sense than listening to her," Tali was shaking, "I'm so sorry".

In a way, Shepard wanted to kick her in the head. Had it seriously taken this long for her to figure it out? Why was she even apologizing? Was she looking for some kind of redemption or forgiveness or something?

Before she could figure out what to say, Traynor stuck her head out of the bathroom, "Are you coming or not, Commander?"

Oh shit.

"We have company, Specialist," Shepard motioned to Tali. Traynor squeaked and disappeared.

This was one of those times Shepard was really glad she couldn't see through Tali's mask because she had a feeling she was laughing at her mortification underneath it. 

"We were placing bets down in engineering," Tali said, "I have to admit, none of us considered Traynor in the running".

"You and Gabby and Ken were placing bets on my love life?" 

"Vega and Cortez joined in too," Tali informed her seriously, "they come over and play poker sometimes, honestly, most of us were betting on Garrus".

Of course.

"What does everyone think Garrus and I are a thing?" twice in one day. And he was an idiot she didn't really want to deal with. 

"Because it would be hot," Traynor called from the bathroom. 

"Yes, because an allergic reaction to turian is very sexy," she called back. 

"It's better than a fever," Tali remarked drily. 

"I'll give you that," Shepard conceded, "But honestly, nothing with Garrus".

"Oh yeah, didn't you have that lover's spat in the middle of the Presidium?" Tali pushed, "are you two even talking? This is reminding me a lot of how you two always act before a suicide mission."

Ouch.

"We were discussing his _girlfriend_ ," Shepard tried to emphasise that last bit. The bit where she was definitely not welcome to have a relationship with him. Even if she wanted to. Which she didn't. Or, at least until he learned how to stop being such an ass. 

"Have you ever heard of an open relationship?" Traynor shouted. 

"You newfangled kids and your newfangled words," Shepard grumped back. She had been fine with whatever she had with Garrus before it exploded in a fight and before other people decided to comment on it. 

"That's not a half-bad idea," Tali tilted her head, "anyways, I will leave you to ruin all of our betting with someone that isn't Garrus or Liara". 

Liara? Oh god. 

"Can I join the betting pool?" Traynor's head poked out of the bathroom again.

"Definitely," Tali nodded at her as she left.

Shepard sank onto her bed, "I need a new crew".


	34. Cut communication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: PTSD/response to trauma, ableism, transphobia, dissociation

Besides a quick run of intel to a distantly posted part of the Asari military, the Shadow Broker hadn't been giving Natasha much work. She mainly got tasks on the Citadel, lifting shipping information for T'Soni to sell to the right people to fund whatever it was she was funding. The destruction of the reapers, hopefully. 

But she was still in contact. Normally. 

Up until three days ago. It wasn't a dark line. She just…stopped responding. 

Had she died? 

It was possible.

It had also only been three days and spirits only knew what kind of trouble Shepard could get her squad into. Natasha chose not to worry about that. 

Particularly since she had other things to worry about, like a dog that wanted to become best friends with her snake (who very much didn't want that), and the fact that no matter how many people she threatened and killed (with immunity promised form Bailey, he was growing on her, slowly), the number of attempted lynchings was rising. None had succeeded…yet. But she didn't even know how many trans people were on the Citadel. One was going to be successful. 

One goon had even succeeded in nearly snatching Kate. That particular one had gotten a slow, painful death. No one touched kids. Ever. 

The moral code she'd been following in an attempt to not be the monster they had tried to turn her into was forgotten. She killed and tortured and threatened and did whatever it took to keep her friends safe. They were all she had now that the reapers, the Alliance, had killed Gianna and Tod. 

But that also meant the nightmares came back and she had woken herself screaming more times than she had in years. She found herself strangely thankful Clint was deaf and insisted on turning his hearing aids off whenever he could. He didn't always sleep in the apartment, he was impossible to keep track of honestly, but if he was there…her waking up from a nightmare was something she didn't want him to see. Ever. 

And without work coming from the Shadow Broker to distract her, it got worse. 

She had fought through this once already, she shouldn't have to do it again. 

And, of course, on top of all the other worries, there was Clint. Sometimes he was there, sometimes he wasn't. Sometimes he ate, sometimes he didn't. He slept on the couch, or in the kitchen with the dog, or disappeared into the vents in the middle of the night, or just didn't show up for days, though the sandwiches she shoved into the kitchen vent disappeared more regularly than he did.

She knew that, by this point, it had absolutely nothing to do with her. Or well, it had everything to do with her - he spent as much time being present for her as he could, before his demons forced him to escape the confinement of the apartment, before his own paranoia would get the better of him. She still couldn't help wondering what was wrong with her. What was she doing wrong? Why couldn't he just stay? 

Why couldn't he just get better? 

And she still had those fucking ripped up pages in a drawer and, no matter how much she knew that he did that in fear and self-loathing, they were still there. Whatever they had had for those few weeks was gone. She still missed it everytime she saw him walk through her door or (more often than not) drop out of her ceiling. 

In one of his more lucid, sympathetic moments, he asked about it.

_What happened to the stupid form I ripped up?_

_I have it,_ Natasha shrugged.

_We could try taping it back together?_

_It's going to take more than tape to fix this,_ Natasha hadn't wanted it to come out so savagely, but it did.

_Isn't that better?_ He questioned, _we've been going about it all wrong...rushed into it because we didn't kill each other, maybe we just need time, not tape._

_What we need is to get rid of the bastards trying to kill us,_ she never had worked with mush. She'd tried, it had failed.

_Not you._

_I don't mean the goons,_ she used the sign Clint normally used for the people trying to remove the trans people from the Citadel and hoped it didn't mean something else, _or reapers._

_What do you mean then?_

_The Alliance._

They had denied her request to evacuate the Gandor Colony to a refugee camp. And that was the only one left standing. Soon the only autistic people left standing would be people like her, people who had integrated with neurotypical people. Sell-outs.

It wasn't just a loss of life, it was a loss of culture, and Natasha hated them for it.

_That's not the war you're fighting though,_ he looked confused.

_It's all related,_ she tried to explain (she didn't actually understand, she just felt that it was the right thing to do so she did it), _the Alliance hates everyone that's different. We have to get rid of all of it._

He didn't argue.

***

The transmission from Shepard was unexpected.

"Romanoff, I've been hit with a dilemma".

"Do you have a job for me?" she crossed her fingers it was far away, a good distraction.

"No," Shepard shook her head, "just a question".

Damn.

"Ask away".

"In your opinion would autism alone make a soldier unfit for duty?"

"What makes you think I could answer that?" Natasha knew she was talking about that guy Vega from Huerta, but that was none of her business.

"I saw your request to the Alliance," Shepard shrugged, "the spectres were a little more willing to act and that new person in charge of Omega really likes you, I dropped your name and she found space for them immediately".

"Are you telling me the colony is successfully evacuated?" she had trouble believing it, there was so much bad news, the good news felt false. 

"I can't do much," Shepard said, "but when there's a chance to save a couple hundred lives, I try to take it".

"Thank you," she hadn't meant it in such a long time.

"Now, are you going to answer the question or not?" Shepard crossed her arms. 

"The Alliance would say yes," Natasha wasn't quite sure what Shepard wanted.

"Yeah, I could ask the Alliance for that," Shepard rolled her eyes, "what do you think?"

"No," Natasha gave in, "like with anyone, it would depend on the soldier".

"Thank you," Shepard nodded, "I think I agree with you".

"You think?"

"It's a new problem," Shepard shrugged.

"It shouldn't be," Natasha hated the hubris of neurotypicals. The power they had to sit and think about whether or not she was worthy of basic respect. 

"Tell that to the Alliance," Shepard grinned at her, "sometimes I just cut off the communication when it gets boring".

Seriously? "that doesn't make you a hero"

"I'm not a hero, Romanoff," Shepard sighed, "just someone trusted with a few too many problems".

It was hard to feel sympathy for Shepard right now. Natasha knew she was just a product of her society but still, she had no patience for human neurotypical blundering. Especially when she was just so done with everything. 

"You should read up on models of disability," she informed Shepard, "I heard those refugees on omega have a very good collection".

"I'll try to find the time," Shepard sounded...almost honest.

***

She shot Carol. She shot Pallin. She shot Miranda. And T'Soni. And she was lifting her gun to shoot Peggy.

"Nat! Natasha! Seriously Romanoff, wake the fuck up, you're screaming, you need to wake up, Nat, it's a dream, come back".

The voice pulled her out. Dream yes. Reality, most of these people were alive.

Shit yeah, the voice was right, she was screaming, loudly. She stopped and took a breath. 

"You all right?" the voice asked, "shit no, I know you're not all right, just..."

"I'm fine," she refused to open her eyes, "go away".

Whoever had seen this (Clint, but it couldn't be Clint because it was nighttime and he turned off his hearing aids then) shouldn't have. This was her life, she was allowed privacy.

"You never left me alone when I needed company, I'm not going to do that to you".

Fuck him.

She opened her eyes, "you disappeared for weeks because I left you alone for three hours".

His face twisted in shock, "I thought you weren't coming back until I left".

Oh.

He had been trying to respect her. Like he should be doing right now by leaving and letting her come down from the nightmare on her own.

"All you do is leave," she grumbled, "why can't you do it now?"

"I didn't realize how alone you were," his voice was soft, "I'm sorry".

"It's nothing new," she muttered, "I've been fine up to now without you."

Life was easier without friends. 

"You weren't sleep screaming the first time I was here," he eyed her carefully.

"You're deaf," she shot back, "and were not here four hours ago".

"Off switch got jammed," he shrugged, "I was in the vent".

Well. Now she was screwed.

"Any chance you'll be able to get it fixed?"

"Possibly, but have you tried explaining to a human why hearing aids should have an off switch?" he looked frustrated.

"I have a feeling I'm going to have to find out if I want to keep my privacy," she stuffed the pillow over her head. Conversation over. 

Silence. He wasn't leaving, but he also wasn't talking, which was better than before. And the pillow provided darkness, so she could start breathing again, slowly. Silence. Darkness. She had killed nobody. 

"You should stop tracking the goons," Clint ruined the moment, of course.

"Go away," she mumbled into the pillow.

"I can't understand your voice when it's muddled".

She removed the pillow and glared at him, "Then what's the point of hearing aids if they don't work?"

He drew back as if she'd slapped him. She might as well have. She knew better than to pull shit like that. 

Who was she to lecture Shepard on disability models when she couldn't extend them beyond her own experiences?

A fucking brat. 

_Please leave,_ she signed carefully. 

This time he stood, reached for the vent and then stopped, _forever or just for now?_

_Whatever you want,_ she was the one that had fucked up, _I'd prefer just for now._

He swung himself into the vent without responding.

Natasha didn't even feel like stimming. Fuck everything. 

***

She had no idea how long it had been when Clint came in through the door with the dog. Time had passed strangely. She knew that probably meant she had dissociated. Which meant she should stim and ground herself. But the detachment felt…not nice, just…not worth the effort to remove. 

"You haven't moved all day?" he stared at her.

She tried to find her words. They were always a little farther away when she dissociated. She always had words, though. But these ones weren't hers. She wasn't really her anyways. 

"It's comfortable."

He shrugged and walked over to the bed, "I brought pizza, want some?"

Did she?

He studied her for a moment and then opened the box and held out a slice, "You should eat".

Fine. She'd eat. She sat up and took the pizza. She could vaguely tell it was hot and probably burning her fingers and her tongue, which she should be worrying about, but she wasn't because, well…she wasn't. 

He grabbed his own piece and started munching, "Can't say you missed much of a day. We wandered around the wards, Lucky got in a fight with a varren, I shot some fake ones in the arena, that's about all, I wish I could tell you something more exciting".

"More exciting than lying in bed all day," she mumbled around the pizza. 

He frowned in concentration for moment.

"I don't know," he was still frowning, "I wouldn't mind a nap."

"You're eating pizza," she pointed out, "if you nap now, you'll get it on my sheets and you will be the one to wash it out". 

"Just a thought," he shrugged and stuffed the rest of the pizza in his mouth and lay down so his head was almost in her lap, it was awkward. 

She started to realize how hungry she was and reached for another slice. 

She was on her third slice when Clint turned to look up at her, "What are we doing Nat?"

"Eating pizza". And she was going to enjoy it without deep conversations about how fucked up she was.

"You've seen me at my worst," he turned back to the ceiling, "you saw that and you trusted me with Tokyo. Why?"

"Your worst is nothing," she found herself answering truthfully. 

"Why'd you bring me to the colony?" he insisted, "Why'd you trust me?"

Natasha finished her pizza first and reached for another slice, "I don't know".

He sat up and grabbed another slice of pizza. 

"Were you seriously just going to come back a few hours later?" he turned to look at her. 

"Of course," she replied, "all I needed was some time to think, I had to know how I felt before we talked".

But then he'd disappeared, and, along with it, her belief in him. And yet, here he was. He'd been disappearing from her life constantly, but, as soon as he realized that her demons were approaching he was here with pizza and nosy questions.

It was almost sweet.

She didn't know him any better than the day she'd glanced into a rafter and seen him packing away a rifle. 

"But the necklace?" 

She touched it automatically, it was always there, a reminder that no matter how crappy this was, she was in deep, she was attached to Clint, "the chain was weak, I bought another one while I was out, I left it there so I wouldn't lose it".

He dropped his pizza. Natasha tried not to think too much about her sheets and reached over to grab his hand, "You thought I didn't want it."

They were really fucking bad at communication. Scratch that. She was really fucking bad at communication. 

He reached out with the other hand and tentatively touched the necklace, "I know at least that was wrong".

She stilled. This was the closest, physically, they'd been since the first…fight. It was like him ripping up that piece of paper had built giant walls between them. Small things could break through, but actual, physical, closeness, that was gone. 

It felt…comforting. Grounding. She found herself firmly back in reality. 

It's why she had kept him around the first time, wasn't it? He was comforting. It was why it hurt so much when he left without even saying goodbye. The one person she had trusted to be safe had just disappeared. 

He started to pull away and she found herself grabbing at his hand and pulling him back. His eyes were giant question marks.

"I don't want to be alone anymore," she whispered, she hated admitting it, admitting weakness, admitting that Natasha Romanoff who had dragged herself up from the pits of hell couldn't make it on her own. 

But he didn't judge her, he didn't pull away in horror, and there was absolutely no pity in his expression, he just pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her.

There was still something wrong, though, there was something they still had to talk about something. Oh right. She was a brat.

"Sorry about earlier," she turned her head to make sure he could hear clearly this time, "how you hear or not isn't my business".

"Thanks," he muttered quietly, "but it still kind of is".

"How so?"

"I got my hearing aids late," she could feel his arms tense slightly around her, "I can't always distinguish sounds without lipreading, no matter how loud it is, you should know that."

"No more pillows then," she figured, "Sorry for that too".

"Thanks," he paused, "no one's ever apologized for that before."

Natasha pulled back so that he could see her face, "Tell me who I need to kill".

"You are not killing anyone," he informed her, "I call dibs". 

Ok. Fair enough. She could allow that.

"I help you get your hit list, you help me with mine?" she offered. 

"Sounds good to me," he reached around her with one hand (the other one was still tight around her waist) and grabbed a slice of pizza and started munching.


	35. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for: distorted thinking, mind control, violence

Clint was eating his sandwich in the kitchen vent when the doorbell rang. No one ever rang the doorbell, the only people who ever visited were Angel and Rhys and Kate, and they tended to let themselves in (well, Kate would stand outside the door and scream "Nataaaaaaaaassssshhhhhhhhha" until someone opened the door, Angel and Rhys had the door code). Sometimes there were visitors, but they always came in with Nat.

He poked his head out of the vent so he could hear properly. 

"You look like crap," Natasha's voice was intelligible, he was used to it. 

"Long story," holy shit, that was Miranda's voice, "I'm looking for Clint, there's absolutely no record of his location anywhere".

"If you want to sit down and wait, he'll show up eventually," Natasha replied. 

"That simple?" he didn't need to see her to know her expression of surprise. 

"That simple," he could imagine Nat's smirk, "why don't you come in and have tea and wait?"

"Do you, um, mind if I brought someone else?" 

"Who else is here?"

A pause. Confused noises. Things that were too quiet to make out. Background noise. 

"This is my sister, Oriana, she is travelling with me for the moment". 

"You don't look as evil as Peggy said you were," that was definitely a new voice.

Why did CarolPeggy think Nat was evil? 

And Miranda was finally with Oriana? He tried not to be jealous. Miranda finding her real sister didn't mean the network didn't exist. He still mattered, right? Except she hadn't been around for so long, she'd been with her real family. Fuck. 

Clint climbed out of the vent, poured himself some coffee and went to sit at the kitchen counter. He was going to have fun with this and was definitely not jealous. 

The kitchen door opened and Nat walked in first, and then turned back, "It seems you won't have to wait at all".

"What does that mean?" Miranda appeared in the doorway and yeah, Nat was right, she looked like crap. She stopped short and took in Clint (he didn't look like crap anymore, he thought, maybe, he'd also just been curled up in a vent shaking, so that was all relative). 

He grinned at her.

"Some things don't change, do they?" she sighed.

He sipped his coffee, lukewarm, "You're supposed to be surprised".

"You're too predictable," she retorted.

"You found Oriana?" he tried to hide the sourness in his face.

Miranda's smile was genuine, for once, "Yes".

"Do I get to meet her or am I too dangerous?"

The smile dropped away.  
"Clint, we need to talk," she turned to Nat, "alone."

He was seized with a sudden panic. This did not sound good. He needed Nat. He was a fucking helpless loser who couldn't do anything on his own. 

What if Miranda had decided he wasn't worth her time? She had Oriana now. What if this was her way of saying good-bye? Or was she going to kill him because he knew too much about her? 

Nat crossed her arms, "I don't think that's a good idea".

"This has nothing to do with you," Miranda spoke sharply, "no matter how much you think some righteous attacks on the right people do something, you will always be an outsider. So will Ori. Leave." 

Oh ok. If this had to do with the commune, or well, what was left of it, or any of that, it couldn't be that bad, right? He nodded at Nat.

Ori would always be an outsider too. He tried not to feel happy about that point. Loving a cis person was hard, he would know. 

"I'll be in the other room," Nat threatened (or promised? It wasn't clear), and left. 

Clint stared at Miranda. She shifted uncomfortably. Miranda was never uncomfortable. What was wrong? What was she going to do?

"You wanted to talk," he drained his coffee, "so talk."

"Do you know what happened to Eva?" 

He punched her when he had no brains and she fell out a window. 

"You mean after the whole losing my mind a second time thing?" he considered, "no wait, didn't you say something about Cerberus torturing her and Peggy?"

People that Nat was careful to mention around him in case of a trigger. He couldn't blame her, but he hated how incapable it made him feel. He should be able to care about his friends. Family.

"She's currently on the Citadel," Miranda nodded, "there's a very strong reason to believe Cerberus is controlling her mind".

"Fuck," what did this have to do with him?, "do you think visiting her would help?"

"I don't know," she paused, "Clint…"

Uh oh.

"What?"

"It's a chip in her brain," Miranda's voice dwindled, he forced himself to piece the sounds and shapes together, "there's no way to remove it without killing her".

"How can you be so sure?" he willed his hands to stop shaking. To stop caring about someone he'd barely seen in years. Things were different now. The balance between the commune and Cerberus was over, the community, the network was destroyed, he had new people in his life. 

They'd been boxed on the same day, dammit, he couldn't just forget someone like Eva. He'd watched her walk into that thing and come out with tears of joy down her cheeks. They'd escaped into the vents together that night and he hadn't had to explain how weightless he felt without the sickening wrongness of breasts, because she was experiencing the same thing (more or less).

That kind of moment lasted a lot longer than a change of alliance. 

Miranda interrupted his thoughts coldly, "because I designed it."

"You what?" he couldn't control the shaking, "You designed a device to be put inside her head to control her?"

"It was designed for Shepard actually," she took a shaky breath, "I never intended it for Eva, if that helps".

"No, it doesn't," he was shouting, "Do you know what it's like? To have something else control your mind? To not be able to trust yourself?"

"No."

"Then why the fuck would you design something like that?" he slipped into sarcasm, "Oh, I'm Miranda Lawson, Cerberus Operative, let me just design this stupid fucking thing to control other people safe in the knowledge that me and my buddy the Illusive Man will never have to suffer from it."

"Yes," Miranda's voice was still annoyingly calm, "you asked me once what price I was paying, this is it".

"Another person's mind?" he could feel his mind slipping down the cliff and didn't care, "That's not your decision to make."

"It was never intended for use".

"And it was used anyways," he retorted, "the intension doesn't fucking matter. You're the one you told me we don't hurt our own. You should have known better. You should have seen. You should have been looking out for her."

She should have been doing a lot of things. None of which she had done because she had been too busy rebuilding Shepard and going on some traipse around the galaxy instead of taking care of her family. 

She was a liar and a fake and a monster. How had he ever trusted her or looked up to her? 

"Clint," she took a step towards him. He kneed her in the gut. She fell backwards and he was about to swing when someone else grabbed his arm. He struggled against the restraint.

"Trust me, you're going to thank me for this later," Nat's voice whispered close to his ear, "But seriously, if you want to pummel someone to their death, don't do it in my kitchen."

"Then I'll do it in the hallway," he muttered.

Natasha stepped between him and Miranda and stared him in the eyes. 

"Why are you protecting her?" he pushed, "She's Cerberus. The people that abused you".

"I'm not protecting her," Nat stood her ground, "I'm protecting you."

Something was shaking and he wasn't sure if it was him or the ground, but it was awful and Miranda was a monster and Nat wasn't making sense, but maybe that was someone else's thoughts in his mind. He needed to get out. Now. 

He turned and pulled himself into the vent and started crawling away. Anywhere. Just. Away. 

***

Gunshots rang out and Clint woke up immediately. He sat up and reached for his gun and…oh right, he was practically a civilian now. No gun. No mission. No mark. 

Just one very fucked up mind. 

And gunshots. Those were still real. He turned on the unjammed hearing aid and then off again because shit, that was loud. 

What was going on?

He found an opening and carefully removed the casing and peeked through. There was definitely a lot of guns. But he still had no idea what he was looking at. A shot hit the vent, it shook, and he fell out of the vent onto a table. Ouch. 

Table. Ok. That helped him understand a bit of what was going on.

"Please tell me you've got a gun, Barton," a familiar voice shouted. Shepard.

That explained everything. He dove for cover.

"No, but I have very good aim," he found a bunch of abandoned silverware. The people shooting at Shepard were heavily armed, but it was easy enough to see the cracks. A well-aimed fork and knife and the guy was down.

Shepard shouted something. He tried to locate the voice and failed (guns were loud). 

"Maybe you should tell me who you're fighting," he disabled a security field with a spoon. 

And then he discovered a huge pile of metal chopsticks. 

"I don't know," at least that's what it sounded like, "Not Alliance. Not Cerberus. Not Reapers".

"Fun," he made good use of the chopsticks. Eyes were always so sensitive. 

The shooters, whatever they were, went down and Clint was finally able to pause and take a breath. He tried to place Shepard again. Literally right next to him, well, next to him behind a fallen table. Probably why he had been able to hear her at all. 

"Commander," another voice shouted. Someone was standing on top of a fish tank. (Oh shit. They were in that fancy sushi restaurant on Sunset Strip. He had just gotten into a firefight in one of the swankiest places on the Citadel. Leave it to Shepard…)

"Rasa?" he tried to make sense of the person.

"Maya Brooks," the woman held out her hands, "nice to meet you, whoever you are." 

That was definitely Rasa. Annoying underling. They'd run a mission together back when he was based at The Barn. 

"I wouldn't trust this one, Commander," he held back, "I knew her in Cerberus".

"What? Why would you say that?" she twittered, "I would never work for Cerberus".

"She seems like a pretty green Alliance kid to me," Shepard shrugged.

Seriously? "You've spent enough time with Cerberus to know they can put on an act".

And that's when one of their mysterious enemies shot the glass and they fell through the fish tank.

***

The tension between Shepard and Garrus was so palpable, Clint was relieved when Wrex arrived. Not that he wasn't normally glad to see Wrex, he just normally wasn't relieved. Wrex generally meant there was trouble on the way. 

This time, the trouble was already there and Wrex shoved a very powerful gun in his hand and that was that. And more mystery people started shooting at them before he could give it much thought until they got back into the shuttle. 

"All right you two," Wrex grumbled as they took off, "want to tell me what's going on?"

"You mean the people that want to kill me," Shepard replied, "I thought we already went over that".

"No, I got that one," Wrex said, "I meant the fact that I can feel the tension between you and the turian and I'm not supposed to be that attuned to human emotions".

"Hey, I have a name," Garrus interjected.

"You're still a turian," Wrex said almost fondly. Clint stayed quiet because whatever the hell was going on, he did not want to be part of it. He had been on the Normandy, he knew what Shepard's people were like, and they scared the hell out of him. 

Shepard ignored Wrex and turned to Clint, "The trick with the chopsticks was cool."

He shrugged, "You have good enough aim, anything is a weapon".

Anything is a weapon. He was a weapon, He was dangerous. And he had kicked Miranda. And he had been going to knock her out. But she had…

"Hey," Wrex grunted, "don't go all soft on me right now, I'm stuck with these two, it's gross". 

He wasn't going to think about Miranda just yet. 

"I would have been fine on my own," Shepard crossed her arms and glared at Garrus.

"Sure you would have," Wrex agreed, "but it would have been a hell of a lot less fun".

"Why'd you come, Garrus?" Shepard pushed, "You knew I had back-up".

"A back-up without a gun," Garrus pointed out, "and you had a pistol."

"So this is about my weapons now? How about I go buy some nice guns and you stop trying to play saviour?"

"I'm not…" Garrus stopped, "Look, Shepard, it's just, you died".

"We've already been over that one," Shepard rolled her eyes, "in a frighteningly similar conversation".

"Except last time there was a chance you'd survive," Garrus gripped his gun tighter, "Now, I look at you, and I know the chance of you dying, and all I can think of is how to prolong it".

Wouldn't it be so much easier if no one cared about no one else? There wouldn't be any more messy emotions.

"Ok, cut the romantic crap," Wrex interrupted, "Now you've sorted that out, do it when I'm not around".

"Why does everyone think I'm dating Garrus?" Shepard turned on him.

Clint shrugged innocently, "Aren't you?"

Shepard turned to Garrus, "Am I dating you?"

"Do you want to?" he responded, "Miranda already made us an open relationship a while ago".

Miranda was a fucking monster. Garrus should be with someone he could trust. Like Shepard. 

The two were definitely making googly eyes at each other, so maybe that was actually a thing. 

***

It was the latest he got back to the apartment after the time he realized Nat was getting nightmares. He felt almost guilty. But he'd also fallen through a fish tank, which felt like a decent enough excuse. 

Except she was already screaming when he opened the door (slowly, Lucky had a habit of "keeping watch" at the door when he wasn't around and it made the whole getting back in process a bit of a hassle) and justification or guilt didn't really matter anymore.

"Hey Nat," he crouched by the bed and poked her hard in the shoulder, "You're being loud."

She stilled. And quieted. And then slowly opened her eyes, "Didn't think you were coming tonight."

"I made a promise, didn't I?" he grabbed her hand (she never initiated contact after the nightmares, but she never refused it either and normally, once he'd initiated, she wouldn't let it stopped). 

"Promises can get a bit muddy," she squeezed his hand, "How are you?"

She was the master of deflecting. Two could play that game.

He shrugged, "Got to kill some guys with chopsticks".

"Why do I always miss out on the fun?" she grumbled, and pushed herself upright, "I need tea".

"I'll get it," Clint extracted his hand from her grasp and went into the kitchen. Lucky nudged at his leg and he telepathically apologized for disappearing without him. Lucky would not have liked Shepard's new friends though. At all. He ran and hid at all loud noises.

Natasha was on the couch when he came back out, he handed her the mug of tea and settled at the other end of the couch with his coffee.

She put the mug down, _You shouldn't drink coffee at night._

_I'm immune,_ he shrugged. 

She rolled her eyes and picked up her tea. He lifted his legs onto the couch and poked her hip with his toe. She glared at him, but lifted her legs up on top of his. The pressure was a good reminder that this was, in fact, a form of reality. Maybe. It was also a good reminder that there was still good reason to question reality. It forced him to look at his mind slope where he was hanging on to his ledge of sanity by the tips of his fingers. Damn. Now he wished he'd kept looking in other directions.

It was ok. He'd been in worse situations. He'd be able to pull himself out of this one eventually. It was strange, knowing that he'd be ok. Not now. But eventually.

Enough self-analysis.

Nat put down her mug again, _I'm not a monster._

_No, you're not,_ he agreed with her.

_Killing people doesn't make me automatically a monster,_ she continued, as if she was trying to convince herself. 

_Definitely not,_ he had trouble coming up with another definition though. What made one person a monster and another person not? 

Nat wasn't a monster. He knew that in his gut. But him? He'd worked for Cerberus. He'd killed indiscriminately. And then…well, there could even be reaper in him. That would definitely make him a monster. 

She lifted her hands to say something and then put them down. He waited.

She lifted them again, _what if this is just some simulation to see what it takes to turn me into a monster?_

_Then they've probably realized you're stronger than they thought,_ he used her logic (his was…shaky), _so do you want to give them a show of non-monsterness or do what they want?_

_I want to be sure I'm doing the right thing,_ her hands shook, _but then why do I feel so guilty?_

_The world isn't black and white,_ now he was the one trying to convince himself, _you do what you can._

Maybe there weren't any monsters at all. Just a lot of good people fucking up all the time. 

Nat untangled their legs and slid down the couch to lean against his shoulder. Yeah ok, that was nice. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer. Honestly, he had not fucking clue about anything and the whole question of attraction had been thrown out the window a long time ago (asexual? No. aromantic? Sometimes. Absolutely in love in with a certain Natasha Romanoff? Definitely.), but he did know that just having her around, having another person to share the shit with, that was nice. 

His mind lifted up slowly so he was hanging from the ledge by his forearms. Much better.


	36. Apartment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: suicidal thoughts, general self-destructive behavior, transphobia, acephobia

She almost wished Clint had killed her. At least then, she would have done something to fix her mistakes. 

_"I'm still human, Shepard, I make mistakes."_

Mistake was the wrong word. Mistake meant it could be undone, fixed. This couldn't ever be changed. Eva was there, sedated because it was a temporary way of keeping whoever was controlling her at bay, but still, there was no way to actually save her.

Even before she had known Oriana, Miranda had had one goal - to keep her chosen family safe whatever it took. She had failed. 

She had destroyed them. Her attempts to balance her role in Cerberus with the safety of the commune were pointless. The commune was gone, the network destroyed, and her family. Well...she looked back at Eva. That's what she had done to her family.

"Miri, you need to eat something," Ori poked her head into the room, "brooding isn't going to make it better".

"Don't call me that," only people in the commune did that. 

"Miranda then," Oriana came and sat down next to her, "are you sure there's nothing you can do?"

Her good luck was out, "I built it, I made sure there was nothing".

Ori handed her a salad, "you'll think of something".

How could she be so confident? How could she believe in her so thoroughly?

"You got an invite," Ori stole a tomato out of the salad, "Shepard's having a party, something about a clone".

"Sound's interesting," did Shepard even have a place to hold a party?

"We should go," Ori nudged her, "I still haven't met Garrus".

Garrus had better people in his life than her.

"I'll think about it," she said quietly.

***

Romanoff decided for her.

"I have two things to discuss with you," she got straight to the point as soon as Miranda answered her call, "first off, are you going to Shepard's party?"

"Ori wants to go," Miranda thought, "I haven't decided".

"The decision isn't mine," Romanoff informed her, "but I think it would be good for Clint to be prepared if you're going".

Clint needed a party a lot more than she did, "It would be easier if I don't go then".

"Are you sure?" Romanoff demanded, "you're not giving either of us enough credit".

"You're giving me too much credit," Miranda countered, "you said there was another thing?"

"Yeah, you're friend, Dottie?" 

Oh yeah. New name. 

"What about her?"

"I spent a lot of my life circumventing Cerberus bullshit," Romanoff grinned, "including yours".

"I'm sorry," another mistake. Condoned child abuse, torture, weaponzing children.

"You should be," Romanoff flipped her hair, "anyways, what happens if the person controlling the chip stops controlling it?"

"She'd be free," Miranda realized, "it was only meant as a safeguard, we still wanted Shepard to be Shepard."

"You guys are really creepy," Natasha rolled her eyes, "so, all you have to do is break into a Cerberus base and get the controller thingy"

"It's not that simple," Mirada started calculating, "it's probably kept at headquarters and no one knows where it is".

"Lucky for you that tracker you just put on Kai Leng has given Shepard the coordinates," Romanoff was practically gloating.

"How do you even know about that?"

"I'm a spy that works for the Shadow Broker," she shrugged, "so are you going to fly in on Shepard's coattails or what?"

Or what. It wasn't that simple. Or was it? The control was just a tiny bug on a terminal, if she could find the right terminal...

And even if she did, would Eva even recover if was she stuck permanently in this state of shock? 

It was a long shot, but she'd be kidding herself if she wasn't going to try.

"I'll be leaving with Shepard then," she decided, "thank you".

"I'm not doing it for you," Romanoff said, "I'm doing it for the people you let down by putting too much trust in the wrong people".

That was the kindest way anyone had ever put it. Even Garrus was harsher when he started talking about her "spy business".

"Why do you care so much?" why did she save Miranda's life?

Romanoff's eyes widened slightly, "isn't it obvious?"

No, it wasn't. She and Clint were...a thing, but that didn't give her any reason to be going out of her way for any other trans person. She was cis, it wasn't her battle, and she'd taken it on, anyways. Why?

She was still cis.

"Look Romanoff," she sighed, "I have no right to tell you this, I know, but Clint...is important. More than the others. Don't hurt him."

"More than the others?" her head tilted.

"He was mine," Miranda tried to explain, "the others, I was just the liaison with Cerberus but he...cared."

He'd made her feel welcome in the commune. And he'd become the reason she visited.

And then he'd followed in her footsteps and joined Cerberus and everything had gone to shit. So…yeah…it probably would have been better if she'd stayed away. 

"Guess you better fix your mistake then," Natasha cut out.

Yeah. If only it was just a simple mistake with no major consequences. If only there was a chance that the solution would work.

Except she couldn't look for redemption. She'd lost that chance long before she even met Shepard.

But it was never too late to do the right thing, right?

***

She called Garrus.

"You didn't go running off as soon as we dropped you here, then?" 

She couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic.

"I had to take care of some things," she answered, "Ori's family had a vacation apartment here, it's as good a place as any".

"So you're like, here here?" he was surprised.

"As long as you are," she told him.

"Uou're coming to Shepard's party then?" he sounded so confident and it was such a heavy reminder of all the reasons she wasn't.

"Garrus, I..." she could feel tears pricking her eyes, "I just want to see you. I...need you".

He quieted, "what the hell happened?"

If…when she failed, it was him she would feel sorry leaving behind. Even Ori would understand and survive.

"Can we just...meet?" she asked, "no questions, just us?"

He considered for a moment, "same place as usual, this evening?"

She smiled, "yeah, that sounds great".

***

"Miranda, someone that isn't turian wants to talk to you, should I tell him to come back later?" Ori shouted from the front room as Miranda put on that old red dress Clint had given her so long ago for that first date. 

Maybe it was silly and sentimental, but she was going to allow herself one evening for that. One more day to be selfish and care about only specific people and ignore all the galaxy's mess.

"Who is it?" she twisted and zippered up the dress.

"Says he's Jacob Taylor?" was the response.

So much for a simple evening. 

"Tell him he has ten minutes, I have a date," she inserted the second part pointedly. 

She gave up on her hair and make-up (Garrus wouldn't care, it would be for her, she didn't need it with the dress) and grabbed her boots off the floor and went to face whatever the hell was going on.

He and Ori were staring each other down uncomfortably.

"What do you want, Jacob?" she pulled on a boot.

"You weren't at Shepard's party," he shoved his hands in his pockets, "I wanted to see if you were ok".

"Is that tonight?" she had lost track, "I forgot. As I said, date."

"With Garrus?" he rocked awkwardly, "he said he was leaving early."

Miranda nodded and focused on unsticking her boot zipper.

"Why can't you just have a date at Shepard's?" 

"Because there are some people there who deserve to have a party without my presence," she jerked the zipper up angrily, "And no, I don't mean you."

"Miri."

"Don't call me that," she faced him, "you have no right."

"Are you still holding a grudge from five years ago?"

Miranda thought she had forgiven him. But hell, she was annoyed right now.

"If I remember, you said I was broken and sick and that no one but you would ever love me because I was boxed," she straightened and stared him down, pleased to see she could still intimidate him, "The consequences of that are a little more long-reaching than a simple grudge."

"I was wrong about that," he admitted, "or well, you still might want to consider the possibility that there's something wrong with your…um…sex drive, but Garrus loves you."

"As does Oriana," Miranda held her gaze steady, "and Shepard. And a whole bunch of other people."

"I meant, like, romantic love."

"Except you don't mean that," she pushed, "you mean sex. Which, honestly, is not at all romantic, if Jack can get the difference, why can't you?"

"Jack?"  
She smirked, "Wouldn't you like to know?" 

"Ten minutes are up," Oriana announced from the kitchen, "Miranda get the fuck out of here and remember you're bringing him back here so I can meet him."

"Is that it?" Jacob stared at her, "we're just going to leave it at that?"

"You're a good man, Jacob," she opened the door for him, "but you still have a lot to learn. I can't be part of that process."

"Can't, or won't?" he paused in the doorway.

Can't. For so many reasons.

"You know all those people that love me?" she went with that, "I need to be with them. Not someone who can't quite accept that all of me is me."

Except one of those people probably hated her now. And another was sedated and doomed to death. She had to fix this. And yes, she wanted redemption. She wanted to live and to have Clint and Eva back. Maybe it made her selfish, she didn't care.

"Tell Shepard I'm sorry I couldn't come," she nodded at Jacob.

He nodded back, "It was a pleasure working with you Operative Lawson."

"Likewise Operative Taylor."

***

Garrus didn't say anything, he just wrapped her in a tight hug and let her rest there. Yeah, he was spikey and his armor was hard, but he was Garrus. It didn't matter. 

"Are you going to tell me why you'd rather be shooting fake varren than laughing at Shepard's dancing?" his voice vibrated through her entire body.

"It's not that I'd rather," she tried to explain, "it's just that I shouldn't."

"That doesn't explain anything".

"Sorry," she pulled, "I'm sorry for a lot of things".

"That also doesn't explain anything," his mandibles flicked out in amusement. 

"I'm trying to take responsibility for my actions," she forced herself to be serious, "my time in Cerberus was pretty bloody".

"And your time after Cerberus was too," he shrugged, "and then you killed your dad. What's different this time?"

This time she was destroying her own. Not killing. Destroying.

"There's no this time," she tried to figure out how she could ever get Garrus to understand, "I just finally have to think about it."

"I'm really not feeling holographic varren tonight," he motioned towards the door, "want to go somewhere else?"

Yeah. It was a stupid idea to come here. There was no reason for it. 

"Well then, come back to mine," she took his hand, "Oriana would love to meet you".

The walked back to the apartment in silence. 

He stopped her as she entered the door code.

"Before we go in," he muttered, "will you tell me what you're planning? I know I'm a turian that could never understand half the things you are, but can't you at least trust me?"

"I don't want you to think I'm a monster," she whispered. 

"If there's one thing that I learned from Shepard," he held her wrist gently, "it's that there is no such thing as a monster. Just a lot of grey people struggling through black and white".

"Sometimes the grey gets a little too dark," she pulled out of his grasp, "Just let me have this moment, please."

"I lost my entire team," he whispered, "I watched my planet burn. I've chased after so many people for vengeance it's honestly a miracle I'm alive. I might not be human. I might not be Cerberus. I might not be trans. But fucking hell, stop acting like I'm innocently safe from the danger because I've been there."

And here, at this exhibit, a museum goer would see exhibit 99999 of Miranda fucking up. 

"Did you really think I'd forget our journey to Collector Hell so easily?" she cupped his head with her hand, "I trust you. I believe in you. It's me…I'm all wrong. I'd just like to pretend I'm ok for one night, can you do that?"

"Will you tell me what's going on before I leave?" 

She didn't want to. She didn't want to think about it. Except this was Garrus and she'd been running from him for so long. 

"Yes," she promised.

"And bring back-up if you decide to do something stupid?" he pushed.

Fine, "I'll talk to Jack."

"Then you get one night". 

She entered the door code and yanked at his wrists, "Then it's time for you to meet Oriana".

"You really should have warned me I was meeting the family," he muttered, "it's only polite. I would have warned you".

"I already know Solana," she reminded him.

"And you are never meeting my dad," he said, "So that's settled. Please tell me Oriana isn't terrifying".

"I like to think I am," Oriana peeked her head around the kitchen door, "I wasn't expecting you two for a while".

"Your sister was being melodramatic," Garrus wrapped his arm around Miranda's shoulder and squeezed.

Ori rolled her eyes, "She does that. I'd, um, offer you pizza, but I don't think you eat that…"

Oh god.

"I'd rather not die," Garrus remarked casually.

"I have your beer," Miranda smiled at him.

"Oh that's what it is?" Oriana reappeared with beer in one hand and pizza in the other. She threw it to Garrus. 

Garrus poked her cheek, "You're turning red. Humans do that when they're embarrassed".

She could feel her cheeks turn redder.

"Isn't that my job?" Oriana grinned at her.

This evening was going to be awful and she would relish every minute of it.


	37. Sunset Strip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have changed the timing of Jacob and Brynn's kid slightly. Just because the thought of a baby at a part was too good to pass up...
> 
> Warning for too much thinking about death and war and depression along the lines of Shepard's canon PTSD

Shepard leaned against the railing and watched her friends. 

"Not enjoying the party, huh?" Jack came and joined her, bottle still in hand.

"You got tired of dancing on the table then?" Shepard turned to her. 

"It just feels weird, you know," Jack took a gulp from the bottle, "having fun."

"Yeah."

They didn't have time to have fun. They should be at Cerberus headquarters destroying Kai Leng and then taking down the reapers. One by one by one. Parties were superfluous. 

"Lost one of my kids," Jack toyed with the bottle, "on Palaven. We weren't even fighting, just playing support for a bunch of turians, but, well, reapers don't care about that kind of crap."

"The first one's the hardest," Shepard considered, "no, the first few, by the fifth, you're just numb".

And responsible. 

"I don't plan to lost that many," Jack announced vehemently. 

"You never plan on losing anyone," she had lost so many people, destroyed so many lives. This wasn't…this wasn't what she had planned on when she'd entered N7. Even after Akuze, she hadn't wanted this. Whatever this was. Death. Death so there wouldn't be more death. A deadly equation where she held the lives of the galaxy in the palm of her hand. 

"Fuck that," Jack drained the bottle and dropped it at their feet, "I became a teacher to help kids, not to watch them die".

"You could always pull them out," Shepard suggested, "it's a war, they're kids, no one would blame you".

"They would," Jack's hands gripped the railing tightly, "there's no fucking point in keeping them alive if the galaxy explodes around them, right?"

"You keep telling yourself that, you might just start believing it," Shepard sighed, "Worked for me".

"Aw hell," Jack grumbled, "this is why I need the Cerberus ice queen around, she keeps me sober…figuratively."

Miranda and Garrus had decided doing their own thing was more important than this party. They were probably right, it was just a party, but still…Shepard felt strange not having them there. She wanted them there. She wanted the whole group, not just certain ones. 

"Hey Taylor, letting up your baby," Grunt shouted from the door access. 

Oh yes. Jacob had said Brynn would bring their kid around for a little while (before going to sleep because apparently babies were exhausting, Shepard wouldn't know…fighting reapers was exhausting?) 

"Guess we better go see the runt then," Jack punched her lightly in the shoulder, "how about we make the deal not to depress each other for the rest of the night?" 

"Sounds fair," Shepard figured Jack was probably right. Have fun. Worry about the galaxy later. 

***

Clint had already stolen the baby from the parents by the time they got downstairs. 

"Cute kid," he wiggled his fingers, "can I keep it?"

Three very resounding "No"s sounded at the exact same time.

"I already let you bring a dog into my apartment," Romanoff commented drily. 

"You can keep Jenny temporarily," Brynn sat next to Clint and watched protectively, "sometimes a mother needs a break".

Jenny? Cute name. She caught Jacob's eye and smiled. She was honored to have her name on his kid. It meant a lot, actually. 

"Not in Nat's apartment though," Clint kept staring at the baby, "the python might gobble them up".

"He eats rats not babies," Romanoff rolled her eyes, "honestly, your idiot dog is more likely to break the kid".

"Lucky's very gentle with children," Clint paused, "well, I assume he is".

"Exactly," Romanoff patted his shoulder, "no babies". 

"Except this one," Clint grinned, "isn't that right Jenny?" 

Jenny babbled. Ok cute. 

"You're giving that one back," Jacob's expression was an interesting mix between Brynn's and Clint's - wonder mixed with deep protective mistrust. 

"Is it a boy or a girl?" Tali piped up from the back, "your human names are so confusing".

"We did some thinking," Brynn retrieved Jenny from Clint, "and some research and decided we don't know yet".

Shepard felt herself grinning like an idiot. This kid was going to have the best family ever. 

"We'll have to introduce them to Kate," Clint turned to Romanoff.

"One gender anarchist child climbing all over my furniture is enough," she rolled her eyes and turned to Jacob, "though if you ever feel lonely on the Citadel, you may want to meet these guys, have another family to swap horror stories with."

Jacob laughed, "We'll consider it". 

Babies. Children. 

That was the hardest bit. 

They were happiness and hope. But they were also a reminder that Shepard couldn't afford to fail. She took a good look at Jenny and promised them she'd fix the galaxy. Make it a place her namesake would want to grow up in. She'd have to do it. No other option.

***

She woke up sandwiched between Sam and Garrus. Which was nice, but also confusing because Garrus had most definitely been on a date with Miranda.

She turned to look at him.

"Even Miranda thinks we're dating," he informed her, "which is probably a problem".

"Your girlfriend thinks you're dating someone else?" Shepard had trouble processing. 

"Turians tend to do open relationships," he shrugged, "her sister forced us to make it an actual thing last night".

"Are you asking me out then?" it was too early for such a coherent conversation, "because I'm already taken".

"I can share," Sam muttered into her back, at least one of them sounded sleepy, "I'd get a lot of money off Tali". 

"Kids these days," she grumbled and stuffed her head back into the pillow. 

Fine, if the only person who didn't think they were dating was her, she'd switch boats. 

"This doesn't change anything," she mumbled into the pillow, "except that Sam gets their money.

"That's because we were already dating," Garrus informed her.

Why the hell was he still in his armor?

"Did you get any sleep last night?" she poked his face. 

He shook his head. Idiot. Sleep was important.

"Miranda?" she asked.

"Up to something," he informed her.

"You could go back her up," she always wondered why he didn't. Shepard had other people to fight with. Miranda was alone.

"We both know that's not where I belong."

"You just started dating, don't ruin the moment," Sam murmured into her back.

"Are you my partner or my relationship counselor?" Shepard demanded.

She couldn't hear the response, but it sounded a bit like, "too many words".

"Fine," she decided, "Garrus, go to sleep, Sam, shut up, I'll wake up properly in an hour".

Maybe everything would make slightly more sense when she wasn't half asleep...knowing these two, probably not.

***

Kai Leng was dead. 

And the Citadel was hanging over London.

And the Illusive man was still unaccounted for, which was more than a little bad.

And Jack had carried Miranda's body onto the Normandy half a second before they left for earth with a look that said no one was allowed to ask any questions. Shepard asked them anyways and was met with stony glares. 

Miranda wasn't dead...yet. But she hadn't woken up either. It was a strange reminder of the last time someone had lain in medical unconscious for a trip to the citadel. But this time, Chakwas was all they had. All of the Citadel had been evacuated already, including Huerta.

Chakwas and the Normandy would have to be enough because Shepard wasn't going to lose Miranda now. Not after she had her sister and had killed her father. Not when there finally was a chance of the galaxy surviving.

It was almost the end and it was time for Shepard to think about the hard shit - she wasn't going to survive this. She wasn't going to survive this because it was necessary that everyone else did. That was ok. It was more than ok. She was an alliance commander, N7 graduate, spectre, sole survivor of Akuze, leader of the current trans political movement, she wasn't a person. The soldier would have to die for the galaxy to live, and that was ok. Not great. She'd miss a lot of things - alcohol, biotics, Joker's terrible jokes, her people. But her people would be safe and that was the most important.

"We take care of our own."

Jack handed her a device when they dropped her back off with her students.

"This is what we were doing on Cronos," she shrugged, "it's for that blond Cerberus girl's control chip, she meant to give it to Barton, but you're more likely to see him than me".

And things that concerned trans people were better in the hands of other trans people.

"I'll make sure she has the chance to get it to him," Shepard wasn't going to think too much about it, what it meant, why Miranda had gone to get it.

Neither of them would admit there was a chance that Miranda was gone. For good. She was stronger than that, right?

***

She stopped on Illium. She'd intended to visit earlier, introduce Sam to Mara and Brent and people who could actually help them more than she ever could.

She hadn't planned to be dropping off the half-dead body of one of their own and the means to control another one. 

"I'm needed on Earth," she explained to Peggy, "it's not safe".

"Tell me about the control chip," Peggy demanded, "what do we need to do for Eva?"

Shepard had a feeling about that chip and who it was intended for, "Miranda's the one who knows that. The person who was with her said she intended to give it to Barton."

"I hate Cerberus operatives," Peggy sighed, "one unconscious, the other impossible to trace down".

"If you can track down Romanoff, you can find Barton," Shepard replied and then remembered the party, "or bait him with a baby."

Peggy's eyes narrowed, "What the hell does he have to do with Romanoff?"

"I don't know," Shepard honestly didn't. Sometimes she thought they were dating and then suddenly she'd see this distance between them, even as they were touching. It was something else. Something important. But something else.

"Thank you for this," Peggy turned to her, "for everything, it means…a lot".

"I do what I can," she replied. It was never enough. But it was something.

"Thanks," Peggy repeated. 

***

Anderson called her as she was approaching earth.

"Once you get here, it's going to be all strategy," he told her, "I figured we should have a personal check-in".

"Stop playing admiral for ten seconds then," she rolled her eyes, "just be Anderson."

"Who's that?" the question was serious.

"The man who bought dinner for the kid that tried to steal his wallet," she took a breath, "the man that saw potential in someone who thought she was nothing. The man that chased me down every time I tried to leave alliance training, not because i was a valuable asset ,but because he wanted to keep me from getting in trouble, and the man who'd save me from that trouble, no questions asked and cover for me with my commanders. The man that gave me the entire fucking galaxy simply because he thought there was a possibility that I might like it."

"You're a good soldier, Jen," he smiled at her.

"That's all I am?" she asked, "a soldier?"

"No," he said quietly, "you're Jen. But if I start thinking like that...well, I'd probably destroy the entire galaxy."

"Why?" she was still nothing, at the end of the day.

"Because you're Jen," his eyes twinkled, "the woman that proved to me that strength of will alone could destroy mountains...or reapers."

"It's going to take a lot more than that to take on the reapers, I think," maybe a few grenades?

"I never told you why i chased you down that time you left with those Elcor," he grinned at her.

She knew a hint when she heard it, "why did you then?"

"I knew it was going to be a good fight".

She laughed and he laughed too and something loosened inside of her. She was finally ready for what was to come.

"Stay safe, Jen," he nodded at her.

"I can't promise that," she repeated Miranda's words, "can you?"

"No," he whispered, "but I'm telling you anyways. That's a command, not a request, soldier".

"Understood sir," she saluted.


	38. Why the hell is this still the Citadel?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for trauma, child trafficking, internalized ableism/slurs
> 
> And well...the plot known as Earth is currently a warzone, fun stuff.

Clint had dragged Nat into the vents when the call for evacuation had echoed through the Citadel. 

_Why aren't we evacuating?_ She'd been tense. 

Nat followed the rules, she bent them, but she never broke them. Clint tended to crash into rules and make them explode.

_They won't allow animals,_ he joked, a python was bad enough, _but imagine a python and a dog._

She glared at him but accepted that he wasn't going to talk immediately, _we could always just leave the dog behind._

He didn't blame her. Lucky was currently squeezed up in the vents with them and the wary trust the two had built up over the past few weeks was not quite ready for such tight quarters. 

He pulled the dog closer to him and away from Nat. She might find dogs uncomfortable, but the mix of fur and companionship was something he needed, especially when Nat was not feeling at all companionable. 

They were staying because he had a hunch and they weren't civilians, despite the game they'd been playing for the past few weeks. Nat was a spy. He was an assassin. They were in the middle of a war. Evacuation wasn't meant for them. She knew it too, even if she wouldn't admit it (he had a pretty good feeling that if they'd gone when the alarms went off, she would have shoved him on a shuttle and then disappeared, but it was his battle too, he might not have all his brains in place, but he could still fight).

Nat curled into a ball, shut her eyes and rocked. Ever since the alarm had gone off, she'd been alternating between blocking her ears and firmly removing her hands and showing how she had absolutely no weakness. It was loud and painful, even with his own muddy hearing, he stuffed his face into lucky and breathed in the smell of dog and tried not to focus on what the evacuation meant - the Citadel was hanging over London, not even in the Serpent Nebula anymore, the reapers were here, it was the final stand. Shepard better be as good as she'd been before, preferably better.

***

They dropped into a random apartment in a different district, just in case there were other people (the wrong kind of people), left on the Citadel with them.

_Why are we here?_ Nat was still shaken from the noise and the sudden change, but she was solid. He wouldn't have even noticed the way her hands were slightly clumsier in their movements than usual and her eyes never quite lifted past his chin if he hadn't specifically been looking for it. He was used to working solo, looking out for another person was new, bizarre. He felt almost guilty dragging her into his hunch. 

Then again, that's what they worked together, she was probably looking at him for signs of brain slipping. It was probably happening too, he just didn't have time to pay attention to that.

_They're going to need someone to figure out how the Citadel moved, right?_ He tried to explain his hunch.

_Cerberus,_ she shrugged. Yeah ok, that was obvious.

_But why London?_ He pushed.

_It's as good a place as any?_ She didn't get it. 

_It's where Shepard's from,_ he told her, _it doesn't feel like a coincidence._

She nodded, _we're going to need more than a hunch._

Yeah, which was why they were still there and about to wade through a space station they both knew was under Cerberus control. And maybe he could pose as an operative (he had no idea what Cerberus had him down as in his records), but Nat definitely couldn't. She was supposed to be dead by Cerberus hands months ago (his Cerberus hands. Oops). 

Before he could begin to respond, her omnitool pinged.

"Shepard," she answered it so quietly, he could only read her lips, "where are you?"

Garble from the omnitool.

"We'll do it," she said, another pause, "yes, Barton."

She cut off a minute, _there seems to be reaper technology in Brixton._

That is definitely not a coincidence, Clint was getting a bad feeling about where this was heading.

_Also where Shepard's from?_ She gave him a crooked smile. He nodded. 

_You can drive?_ She kept looking on him, _means we don't see what's here, but it might be the source of the issue._

So much for foiling Cerberus' plan. Apparently they had bigger fish to fry. He nodded and swung himself back into a vent. It was time to steal a shuttle, apparently. 

***

He wasn't even surprised when there was only one building left standing in Brixton. He had a feeling he knew which one it was too, but it wasn't until they walked down the street that he knew for certain.

It felt like a fucking ghost. The reapers really weren't fucking around with Shepard. Or maybe it was the Illusive Man. Or her clone. She had too many enemies. 

_You know this place?_ Nat sensed his unease.

_Lived here for a while,_ he really didn't want to linger. They had to figure out what the reaper activity was. Not reminisce about his really fucked up childhood. It wasn't his childhood anyways. That person died of starvation at the age of fourteen.

_I thought they were after Shepard,_ her eyes narrowed. 

_We were in the same gang,_ he never talked about that with her and was expecting at least some kind of shock or curiousity, but she just touched his arm gently, _let's get this done._

The front door was jammed, so they snuck in through a back window. Nothing downstairs. The creaky stairs upstairs were tarped over and a metal ladder hung from a trapdoor that hadn't been there before. Stairs or ladder?

Ladder was safer. Stairs would probably be more of a surprise to whoever was up there (if there was someone up there).

_We're alone,_ Nat was listening. 

Ladder it was then, he approached it cautiously. 

"Clint," her voice called him back to the creepily empty room.

She was standing in the middle of the floor looking…lost. 

"I've been here before too," her voice was barely understandable, it took him a moment to process.

"What?"

She shook her head as if to clear it, _it was from…before…after I escaped. I don't…remember…how I got there…or anything…but I remember there._

She pointed to one of the back corners. Holy hell. That corner. He would never forget the tiny kid that had lain there screaming (apparently) its head off for two weeks and then gone and stolen one of his nicest comics. 

_We called you the screamer,_ he tried to stay calm, _it's how they figured out I was deaf._

That got the smirk and eye roll he'd been trying for, but this time, she was visibly shaken. Frozen in the spot. Buzz words that were normally saved to discuss his craziness flew through his head in a panic - trigger, meltdown, episode, panic attack, overload…

Maybe he was overreacting, but he needed to hold her, know she was all right. Screw the reapers. He crossed the floor and hugged her to him. She didn't pull away and that was terrifying. She didn't react at all.

"Nat?" he prompted, "Natasha? Tasha?" 

She took two breaths, "Let's do this and get out of here".

She was stalling the inevitable break down indefinitely, but who was he to talk? Wasn't he doing the same thing? There wasn't time to worry about this right now. He let go and followed her to the ladder.

***

"Talk to me".

It was a command, not a request. Clint peered through his scope and worried about the lack of enemies. Someone had to realize they were tampering with their systems, right?

"What about?" he tried not to ask the actual question - why?

"Anything," Nat replied, "just…distract me".

"That's pretty general," he let himself glance back at her for a moment. She was bent over the terminal, focused, gently biting her bottom lip. 

"Tell me about Shepard then," she commanded, "you were in her gang?"

"It wasn't her gang," he corrected, "it was Coral's".

"Coral?"

He tried to remember the details. It felt weird going into details. He also wished she'd stop talking because having to turn and know what she was saying all the time was making his neck sore. But they were both holding on by threads right now. He could deal with a few sore muscles. 

"Well, Coral was the leader of the Reds when they got me," still nothing, "he died in a raid pretty soon after, Viper took over".

"And Shepard?"

"Fairy was a nothing," he tried to see if he remembered anything, "super quiet, creepy, we didn't get along, I stuck with Duke, I don't think she really had anyone, she was like Viper's pet or something."

"Did you all have really weird names?" 

He almost wanted to laugh, "Bet you can guess what mine was".

There was a speck in his scope, he tried to get a better look, just some husks. He could wait until they got closer and take a couple of head shots. 

"Which came first?" she poked, "Hawkeye or Clint?"

"Hawkeye," that was an easy question, "Clint was much too normal for the Reds".

The husks came within range and he took them out. 

"Glad you're getting some action," Nat commented drily, he tried to laugh a bit. 

They sat in silence for a moment.

"I really need you to talk," she broke the silence long before it really became a thing.

Fine. He'd talk. It was the least he could do.

"I was six when I ended up here," there were swarms coming for them now, fuck, "the building next door, a bunch of street performers were using it as one of their digs to sell kids. Pick them up at a performance, trade them off to the Batarians…"

"It was before that was illegal?" 

"Child traffickers don't care about legal," he hadn't even realized it had been legal once, should probably brush up on law, "anyways, Reds, Coral was a slave. He escaped, wanted to raise an army to take down the people that hurt him. They made hits when they could, next door…"

He was surprised when his voice stopped working. He wasn't supposed to care anymore. He'd been six, for fuck's sake. He couldn't even remember anything before that raid. Before Duke and Viper and Compass. 

"Good," Nat's voice interrupted his thoughts.

A banshee appeared underneath the window and he got it with a headshot. Thankfully.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm selfish," she said simply, "I'm glad you're not a slave."

"Me too," he paused to take in what was coming at them, brutes, fun, and then went back into storytelling mode (distract Nat, keep her present), "they called me Puppy at first, because all I did was follow Duke around like a puppy".

"You are a puppy," Nat said blandly, "that hasn't changed."

No, it hadn't. Just this time, he was following Nat around and shooting fucking brutes and telling her about his painful childhood in an attempt to keep her alive in a war against evil robots that wanted their extinction. Puppies grew up.

"Compass found the comics somewhere, I have no idea where," where Compass had gotten the comics was a very good question, "the name kind of just stuck after that…Miranda's the one who called me Clint, though."

"You don't have to talk about her," her response was immediate, protective.

Except that was the thing. Miri had been…everything, and even though…yeah that, she still was everything. 

"Yeah I do," he responded, and took down another brute, "she named me. She's my sister".

"What does that mean?"

"We don't have families," he didn't like explaining it to an outsider, "so there's a kind of lineage of names. Last name is for cis people, first name is given to you by someone important, middle name is the link you share with your family, it's never that simple, but it generally works out."

"And Lawson gave you your first name?" 

A harvester appeared in the scope, "You better hurry up Nat, because I'm good, but I really don't think I can take a whole harvester".

"Hold in there," she muttered, "I'm trying something out".

"It better be quick," it was closer, "and yeah, Miri named me. And I took her middle name."

"Is that a secret trans thing or can I ask?" 

"Eric," it wouldn't mean anything to her anyways, "Peggy's has always been Francis, that's kind of what made me decide she was still alive".

That and her very obnoxious, pointed choice of new name. Carol had always been a bit…un-subtle. 

"Clever," Nat got it immediately. 

The harvester was within range, he tried to gage the weakest spots to target and started shooting. 

"She used to bring me comics," he shouted over the gun, "every time she visited the commune, she'd have brought exactly enough for me to read one a week until the next time she showed".

Must have been hell to plan. The harvester started dropping husks, "Any time now," he called back to Nat.

She said something that got eaten up in the noise.

"No one really trusted her at the commune," he let his mouth run, "except me. I was the special one that got comics".

And it had pleased him ridiculously. Maybe he should have been more like everyone else. Maybe it would have hurt less when Miri broke the trust. 

Except he wouldn't trade the joy he'd felt every time he'd finish a stack of comics and know that it meant she was coming back for anything. Even if it had been a lie, it had been a good lie. 

Suddenly, the harvester shuddered, and dropped. He'd been still picking off husks. That wasn't him.

Nat joined him at the window, "Tell me I'm clever". She shot the last husk. Damn her. That was his. 

"What did you do?" 

"Hacked the harvester," she grinned at him.

What?

She laughed at his expression.

_This is a central control panel,_ she explained, _they need to store some of their data externally, I was able to use that against them. I'm pretty sure they dumped this here as a trap for Shepard though, because most of it is trash._

_So now it's a trap for us?_ He eyed the control panel warily. 

_How are you at dropping out of second story windows?_

"Terrible," he grumbled. Of course he'd done much higher drops once upon a time, but that was before he'd become a presumed-dead crazy fugitive. 

_Bend your legs and roll,_ she grabbed his rifle and gave him a shove. He flailed and fell, not at all gracefully, on his back. So much for rolling. Ouch. Something hit his stomach and he cracked open his eyes. His rifle. He ignored the pain and forced himself to sit. 

Natasha landed next to him silently. Fuck her and graceful spy skills. 

_Any broken bones?_

He rolled her eyes at her. 

She grabbed his hand and yanked him up and into a very fast run. He lagged slightly. 

And then the warehouse exploded.


	39. Space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for pushy allos, discussion of suicide, references to sexual harassment

Natasha was not worried. 

She was a spy that normally worked alone. 

She glanced at the unconscious body in the shuttle's passenger's seat as she tried to pull away from earth without catching any notice.

An unconscious body to drag along with her wasn't too much of a hindrance. She'd done worse. She'd been worse. 

But then, he'd dragged a fucking python all the way from Earth to Citadel, which was more than slightly impressive. 

She was just doing this to prove she was better than him. (Though she would not have been able to keep a harvester at bay for that long).

He'd been bleeding, and she'd stopped most of it with medigel, but there didn't seem to be anything more severe than the fact that he wouldn't wake up. 

She was not worried. And it was definitely not her fault for setting off the blast by hacking the harvester. And, even if they had jumped sooner, they would have still ended up caught in the blast, right?

She was not worried. Not because she didn't care, but because she had to get them somewhere safe. 

She tried calling Shepard again. No answer. Jack. No answer. 

Fine. She'd call Peggy. Peggy Francis. 

If Peggy answered, she do it for Clint, which really was what was important right now. Get off Earth, get the hack codes she'd found to the Alliance, get Clint safe. Those hack codes better be worth it. 

"Why should I talk to you?" Peggy was blunt, but she answered.

"Because Clint's unconscious," she was direct, "I need a safe place to bring him and no one closer is answering their omnitools".

"When did you start caring about him?" her voice was sarcastic.

"Are you going to help him or not?" Natasha demanded.

"You know where to find me," Peggy kept her voice clipped, "where the fuck are you even?"

"Earth," Natasha sighed, "it's complicated."

"If you dragged him there…"

Natasha had thought the same thing herself.

"He can make his own decisions," she snapped at the voice in her head, "just like I'm making the decision to get him to you."

"Why would you care?" 

The same question over and over again. Why would you, a cis person, care about a trans person? Why would you, a cis person, get messed up in our affairs? Why would a cis person ever care? She didn't know. 

"Shepard managed to evacuate an entire autist colony to Omega," she struggled to explain.

"So you're repaying a debt?" 

"No," the words were slipping away from her, "I just…you don't look a gift horse in the mouth, ok?"

"Yeah," Peggy sighed, "you don't."

A turian ship was hailing her. With an underground marking.

"Though if you want to become that gift horse, now would be a good time," she muttered at Peggy, "if just for Clint."

"What do you need?" the response was a lot quicker and calmer than she'd expected.

"How do I not have the underground kill me?" 

"66942," she rattled off the numbers, "that's my code. Solana's is 18974 if you need it".

"Thanks," Natasha switched to the underground's channel.

"Civilian shuttle, you are in the middle of a warzone, what the hell?" the turian was a lot less scary than the expected.

"Long story," she tried to relax.

"Weren't civilians evacuated?"

"Not the spies," she answered.

The turian tensed at that, "Prove you aren't Cerberus."

Thank the entire galaxy for Peggy.

"I worked with one of your associates for a while," she stated calmly.

"Code?"

"66942."

Her mandibles relaxed outward slightly, "How is she?"

"Ready to murder me," Natasha told the truth, "but quite well, considering."

"Where are you trying to get to?" all distrust and confusion was gone.

"Illium," Natasha took a deep breath, "my partner's hurt."

Partner. She'd called him that once before and he'd ripped it up and thrown it in her face. Too fucking bad. He was her partner now. If he had a problem with it, maybe he just shouldn't be unconscious. 

"Give me a moment," the turian disconnected the call. Natasha took the chance to check on Clint. He was breathing, but not fucking awake. Why wasn't he awake? No major injury. He hadn't hit his head, she didn't think. What was wrong?

"52791," the turian was back.

"What?" she jolted back into her seat. 

"That's your code," the turian stated, "there's a docking port to your starboard side, we can transfer you to a sturdier shuttle with a guard, does your partner need medical attention immediately?"

"That's not…" she stopped herself, "I appreciate that. Do any of you know anything about human response to explosions?"

_"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth."_

"Sadly no," the turian conceded, "we know a lot about turian responses to explosions. Is there someone on Illium then?"

If only.

"It's a safe place," she landed at the shuttle port and then paused and considered for a moment, "I, um, have some intel that you might find useful. On the reapers."

"We'd share it, you know," the turian responded, "we don't believe reaper intel should be secret by species."

"Which is why I'm going to give it to you," Natasha decided, "can't trust the Alliance with this."

"Thank you," the turian nodded and cut out. 

Natasha went to open the door to her shuttle and was met with Solana's face.

She barely remembered Solana. Most of the time she'd spent in that house, she'd been tied up, but, now, any familiar face was nice.

"You are the last person I was expecting, figured Clint would have killed you by now, complicated morality aside," the turian commented drily, "anyways, you have a partner?"

Yeah. Fuck. Natasha stepped aside to reveal the body in the passenger's seat. 

Solana didn't comment, her mandibles just tightened a little closer to her face as she leaned in and picked him up. 

"Your shuttles this way," she indicated, "I'm flying, Reg's guarding. I thought he was dead?"

He still might be. But he was breathing and that had to mean something.

"He dropped off the record multiple times," Natasha didn't even know exactly how many times he'd died in the past year, "it got complicated."

Solana just nodded, "Can I ask about my brother?"

"What about him?" Natasha had last seen Garrus at Shepard's party, before he'd rushed off to Miranda.

"Is he alive?"

She calculated, "Nine days ago, yes."

A lot could happen in nine days. 

"That's more information than I had before," Solana looked at her, "thanks". 

***

Natasha was not worried. 

He'd been out for 97 minutes.

She was not worried.

"Am I allowed to ask what happened?" Solana turned in her seat slightly. She was a good driver, much better than Natasha, but her constant turning away from the front was still nerve-wracking.

"We got blown up for hacking a harvester in a trap set for Shepard," Natasha tried to explain quickly. And they'd both had to face their very tragic pasts and Clint had done it by choice because he knew it would help her. She could still hear his calm voice keeping her rooted to the task, telling her about, well, shit. She'd known Clint had faced shit before the reaper took his mind but hearing him talk about it so…calmly, it was creepy. 

"Sounds like an adventure," Solana nodded, "but not what I meant."

"What do you mean then?" she laced her fingers in Clint's and smiled at the familiar hardness of the ring. Her ring. He was still wearing her symbol.

His middle name was Eric.

She was not worried. 

"The last time I met you, Clint was planning on killing you," Solana glanced pointedly at their hands, "now you're…partners?"

Partners.

"A lot happened," she shrugged, "technically, he's off duty".

"Technically, he's dead," Solana reminded her. 

"You really don't keep up with the news then?" his face had been there quite a lot actually.

"We listen to it," Solana finally turned back front, "safer than a visual".

"He's the one that stopped the lynchings," Natasha couldn't help but feel slightly proud of that fact. He'd been terrified of himself, of even touching a gun, and then he'd found someone that needed his help and he didn't even stop to think, it had just been "lend me your gun, I have some bastards to kill, sure, you can be back-up if you want, I don't really need you though."

"Unknown homeless man with dog stops yet another lynching," Solana recited ironically and turned back towards her, "Still doesn't explain anything about this."

Didn't it? 

"There was a python too," she tried to figure out what Solana wanted, "and some reapers and my leg turned green and there was a lot of coffee".

"And you're not exactly field partners?" Solana asked pointedly, "you're like, couple partners?"

Allos. 

"We're partners," Natasha held her gaze until she turned back around.

She felt something twitch and she turned back to see Clint squinting up at her, looking very confused. 123 minutes. He was awake. He was alive. She was not worried.

She squeezed his hand. 

He kept staring at her in confusion. (Had he hit his head? Where was his mind? Had being unconscious triggered the bad stuff?)

"Is it possible to become deaf when you're already deaf?" he spoke slowly, precisely. 

She'd turned off his hearing aids, of course, but there was the one that was jammed. She turned the other one back on, just in case that was the problem. Something about that was wrong, his face crinkled up and then he reached up and ripped the aids out of his ears, stared at them for a moment and then tossed them away. 

He paused, _Broken._

_An explosion could do that,_ she was just happy he was alive, _how do you feel?_

"That silent stuff is creepy," Solana's voice made her jump slightly. 

"Learn how to sign then," Natasha rolled her eyes and turned back to Clint. He was painfully pushing himself up to sitting. She offered him a hand but he shook his head and leaned against the side of the shuttle.

_Broken rib,_ he signed, _how long?_

What was it like to wake up from usually not being able to hear the world to not even have the choice to hear it?

What was it like to wake up with memories of another being controlling your thoughts? (She'd never been sedated, she'd never woken up, she'd simply run simulations until one blended into another into reality).

What was it like to live without stimming? Without any way to release the trauma the galaxy thrown at you? 

How could she begin to help someone who's entire life was completely beyond her scope of comprehension?

_123 minutes,_ she answered plainly, _we're on our way to Illium._

_Why?_

_That's where you're safest,_ wasn't it the obvious choice?

_What about the mission?_

_I kept a record of my hacking, downloaded all the data from the terminal,_ she explained, _the underground has it._

He nodded and she couldn't help but be slightly pleased he approved of her choice. He was the one experienced in shady, illegal organizations. She'd always been above ground up until now. 

_So going to Earth was the right choice?_

She looked at him, the bruises and cuts on his arms and face and chest (and probably under his clothes), his very shallow , pained breaths, the missing hearing aids. No. It definitely was not worth it.

For the galaxy? Probably. For them? Definitely not.

_It will help the fleets,_ she replied, _hopefully enough for Shepard to do whatever it was she was planning._

The corners of his mouth flicked up in a slight smile.

_What about you?_ He questioned, _what about where you're safest?_

That didn't matter.

_I'll probably go to Omega,_ she lied. When Peggy kicked her out (and Peggy would), she'd go back to the underground or the Shadow Broker. They could use her. 

His eyes narrowed slightly, but he let her get away with the lie. She watched his breaths, in, out, in, out, in, out. He was in pain, but alive. He was alive. 

He lifted his hands, _I wanted to die._

_You don't need to tell me that,_ she interrupted him. It wasn't like she hadn't figured that one out yet (from the looks that Miranda and Peggy gave each other, it was pretty transparent).

_You wanted me to talk, didn't you?_ His lip quirked into that half smile again, _let me finish my story._

_Fine,_ she settled across from him.

_I wanted to die,_ he repeated, _and I still kind of do. But I was doing it for all the wrong reasons. I just…I needed someone to care about me._

_A lot of people care about you,_ she knew it probably meant nothing, but maybe the reminder would sink in somewhere. 

_I know,_ he shrugged, and then winced, _it's just hard to remember sometimes._

_You're the only person to survive indoctrination,_ she informed him, _you can handle hard._

It was barely a smile, but it was there. He was alive. And he was smiling. And he was going somewhere people cared about him. Where people knew and understood him. 

He lifted his hands and then he dropped them and then lifted them again and held them ready.

She raised her eyebrows at him. What was he thinking?

_I know it's not really your thing,_ he signed, _and it doesn't really matter, it's just a thought really…_

_What?_ He was managing hand babble.

_Can I kiss you?_

The last person that had kissed her had tried to pull down her skirt at the same time. She'd been thirteen. She didn't really kiss people. 

She should have realized that having a partner that wasn't allo, but also wasn't aroace would cause problems eventually. 

_You don't have to,_ he interrupted her thoughts, _but it wouldn't change what we are. I could get a sexual partner if I wanted one. I don't want romance. I want us. Kiss or not._

Why did he have to be so damn sweet about it?

_Why not?_ She decided, _but I say stop, you stop._

She leaned towards him because, despite the bluster, he wasn't going to be able to bridge the distance before him. He needed the wall of the shuttle just to sit up. 

He lifted his hands to cup her face and pull her to him.

Kissing Clint…wasn't bad. 

No fanfare or fireworks or explosion. It was just more Clint, closer than she'd been to him before, which she didn't mind. She liked being close to Clint. She pulled back and smiled at him, _that wasn't terrible._

_I consider that a success then,_ and this time he grinned at her.

"You are definitely couple partners," Solana announced. Fine, whatever, Natasha grabbed Clint's hand and leaned back against the shuttle wall. Solana would never know the beauty of a proper partnership if she was too busy worrying about couples.


	40. The Refuge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end of the main plot. And then there's a four-chapter epilogue. But yay! We survived the reaper war! 
> 
> Also, I'm following the destroy ending, sorry for not making that clear before. 
> 
> Warnings for ableism

Miranda woke alone. To silence. Well, not complete silence, it was as if the world (or wherever she was) was holding its breath, waiting, that kind of silence.

She tried to take stock of the situation. What had happened? She fell, right. How was she alive then? A fall like that should have killed her. Didn't matter, at least Jack had the control.

Except no. The box she had put the containment drive in was visible in the corner of her eye. She turned slightly, yes, that was definitely it. At least it was accounted for, then. 

Where was she? 

It looked a bit like a hospital. But her bed was definitely civilian. There was another one like it in the room, but empty. 

Where was she? Who was here? What had happened? 

Voices came through the wall. Worried, tense, scared voices. There was some shouting. Angry voices. She tried to place it, figure out where she was.

This couldn't be Cerberus, that's all she could figure, the set-up would be more precise (she knew because she'd instituted that set up and forced it on every single lazy operative on pain of death). This was civilian. 

"You can't just expect me to believe that," a voice raised and she was able to piece it out. Carol. Peggy.

Somehow or other she was in the refuge on Illium, that made sense. Kind of. Where else would she end up?

"Don't believe me, believe them," Romanoff's voice, "they saw it too, we're not going anywhere".

Who wasn't going anywhere?

There was only one reason Romanoff would be at the refuge and Miranda didn't like it. 

There was silence and some lower voices she couldn't make out and then the door to her room creaked open and a flash of red hair peaked it. Their eyes met and Romanoff pulled away immediately.

"Carter!"

"What now?"

"You didn't tell me lawson was here".

"Sorry it didn't come up when I was beginning to evaluate the danger of having a cis person around for an extended amount of time".

"Don't be sarcastic," Romanoff snapped, "this...changes things, we should probably go somewhere else."

"Weren't you just telling me there's no way for you to leave?" Peggy appeared behind Romanoff, "did you piss another one of us off then?"

"No," Miranda managed to croak out, "I pissed off Clint".

They both jumped and turned. 

"When did you wake up?" Peggy asked.

Miranda had no idea, "when you were shouting?"

"How long have you been out?" Romanoff approached the bed.

"At least three days," Peggy answered, "that's when Shepard brought her here."

That long? Longer? How had she gotten to Shepard?

"I fell," she tried to connect the dots and then she realized something, "I can't feel my legs."

Peggy looked worried, "we need to get her to a proper doctor".

"You're forgetting all the mass relays are down," Romanoff stared at her, "so now you better thank your lucky stars that I'm here and can find you someone on Illium thanks to my access to all Shadow Broker intel, you know, that offer you turned down."

The mass relays were down? 

"What else did I miss?" she was beginning to feel overwhelmed, too much had happened. She should be dead from that fall. She'd been counting on it...almost.

"Cerberus moved the Citadel to earth," Romanoff shrugged and continued, "reapers are attacking, mass relays went down about fifteen minutes ago, that's all we know."

"What are you doing here?" she had a feeling, but she wanted it confirmed.

"We got caught in a blast," Romanoff stated, "it was the best option"

We.

"This is a refugee camp, not a safe house," Peggy muttered.

"Well, I could go to my actual safe house here, if you'd bothered to learn sign language," Romanoff rounded on her, "how do you plan to take care of your own if you can't speak their language?"

"Clint?" Miranda couldn't help asking.

"He's fine," Romanoff told her and pointed at the box, "this is the thing?"

"Yeah".

She walked over to the other bed and grabbed a pillow and blankets off of it.

"You're a good one Lawson," she remarked, "I'm glad I saved your life".

"Thought you were saving Clint," she couldn't hold it against her.

"I can save two people at a time," Romanoff grinned at her, "I'm that good."

She left and Miranda was left with Peggy.

"Thanks," she muttered, "for whatever you did".

"Thank me when we actually manage to save your life," Peggy shut the door, so it was just them.

Miranda tried to assess that. Things hurt. A lot. Mainly her upper back, ok, her entire torso, and then...she just didn't have legs. Everything just cut off around her hips. 

"Are my legs still there?"

"I see them," Peggy nodded.

Shit. She didn't want to think about that right now.

"I'll survive," Miranda decided, "but first I need to sleep".

"Sure Miri," Peggy rolled her eyes, "knowing you, it's probably true".

Miranda closed her eyes and smiled. It was definitely true. She was perfect. 

***

Paralysis.

The word hung in the air like a heavy weight around her. No one was quite willing to say it around her. But it was there, it was a fact.

She was the only one of them with any medical experiences (if rebuilding a body from traces of nothing counted as that), she knew the facts.

Her legs hadn't come back with the rest of her. 

It was a hell lot better than death. Even considering the pain in the rest of her, as if her body was trying to compensate for the pain that she couldn't feel in her legs. 

With the right tools, she could make herself new ones. Like the ones she made Shepard, or Clint's arms. She found herself not really wanting to bother. She was tired. Her legs were what allowed her to do things for other people. They were the Illusive Man's. She was the Illusive Man's.

News travelled slowly without the mass relays, but it was still manageable. The extranet was slow and annoying, but it was still there.

They were able to figure out the basics of what had happened. Explosions mainly. Geth disabled along with the mass relays. The Citadel was blown up with Shepard and Anderson inside. The Normandy was missing.

The only body they'd recovered so far from the wreckage was a Jonathan Harper, who was on the records as having died almost forty years ago.

The name meant nothing, but she recognized the picture. The Illusive Man was dead. 

She was free. For good, this time. She needed a nap. A very very long nap.

And then maybe she'd figure out this leg problem (and the rest of the nonsense that came with it). 

It was a good excuse to avoid people too. None of them ever really trusted her and that didn't change with her nearly dying and leaving Cerberus and the Illusive Man's death. Peggy cared, for her own quiet reasons, and the others poked their head into her room, she was one of them. 

But she'd never really been one of them. She had thought that by staying away, working in Cerberus, she was protecting them. She'd failed at that and she'd betrayed them all. She was almost glad that she was physically incapable of leaving her bed and facing her mistake. Exhaustion made her a coward.

Romanoff spent time in her room, though. She didn't ask why. 

"Jack mentioned something once," she spun the ring she had worn as long as Miranda knew her, "I put the pieces together myself, not her, but I figured I might as well verify my accuracy."

"What are you saying?" Miranda had found that Romanoff would talk around a subject without answering unless prompted, it was a spy thing. Her training was spotless.

"She asked me about relationships that don't include sex," Romanoff remarked mildly, "that is kind of my expertise."

This was worse than Oriana meeting Garrus.

"That's none of your business," she mumbled, embarrassed.

"No, it isn't," Romanoff shrugged, "but it is a thing. And if I hadn't been in the colony and met others like me, I would have hated myself a lot more than I do. So, in case I got all the details right, I think you should at least know you're not alone."

She'd always assumed she wasn't the only one, but she also had never met anyone else. It had always been one of the weapons Jacob uses against her - how could she be so sure there was nothing wrong with her if there was no one else like her and lots of scientific articles on sex drive conditions?

"There was a rise of asexual and aromantic awareness in the twenty first century," Romanoff continued, "nothing stuck, though, the information is there, just...forgotten. You have to stumble around the extranet until the information arises from the depths".

"What did you tell Jack?" Miranda tried to figure out when that happened.

"I told her the only relationships that included sex were ones that included sex," Romanoff shrugged, "romantic relationships, friendships, platonic relationships, they're all just as important".

"Is that what you have with Clint?" she felt guilty asking. Clint wasn't her business anymore.

"He's my partner," Romanoff stared her down, "what about Garrus?"

"He's my partner," Miranda realized. Though definitely romantic. She wasn't sure how she knew, but she loved Garrus romantically. 

Fuck. Now she missed him. 

And Shepard. 

"From what I've heard, the ship wasn't caught in the blast," Romanoff read her thoughts, "and Shepard was on the Citadel alone. The extranet still works, even if we can't travel, you could send him an email?"

She had. Multiple. No response. But that didn't mean anything. She'd gone long periods of time without sending him anything before, she had to believe he was out there. Alive. 

Romanoff just sat there and spun her ring and it was strange how she didn't try to be comforting, but it was a lot more comforting than any other attempt.

"You should learn to sign," Romanoff said eventually.

"I don't think Clint wants to talk to me," a small price to pay for his sanity.

"But you should be able to anyways," Romanoff shrugged, "what if he'd been with and not me when his hearing aids broke?"

"He wouldn't have been," she would have managed. She took care of her own. She took care of Clint. Even if she failed everyone else. 

Except she should have started learning it the day he rushed to greet her and tell her all about the new language he'd found out about from their last visitor. 

"Fine," she gave in, "it's not like there's much else to do now".

***

The Normandy limped into the docking area sooner than expected. One mass relay was working. Well, two. Whichever one they had gone through to get to this one. It was a big deal. A sign that the galaxy might recover from the war. 

"We're going to meet them," Peggy finished her explanation, "would you like to come?"

Of course she would. 

"Don't think I can," Miranda shrugged.

"Not being able to walk is very different from incapable of doing anything," Peggy rolled her eyes and leaned over and picked her up.

"When did you get so strong?" Miranda demanded indignantly. 

"When did you get so skinny?"

She glared, but allowed Peggy to carry her out of the room into the main area of the refuge. She felt helpless and dependent, it was awful and embarrassing and she tried to make herself invisible, ignoring the eyes on her. Miranda Erica Lawson invisible? What a ridiculous notion. 

It was the shuttle driver (she forgot his name) that appeared first.

He frowned, "Who are you all?"

"Friends of Shepard's," Peggy lifted her chin, Romanoff signed discretely at Clint, "some of us fought with her. We all know her."

"She's not here you know that, right?" the guy was reticent, "and if you're looking to welcome back heroes, that's not us."

"Of course you're not heroes," Miranda gave up on invisibility, "we're here because you’re the friend of our friend."

"Clint says that's not actually what you want to say," Romanoff looked at her innocently. Miranda glared at Clint, who shrugged innocently. Idiot. 

He had talked to her. 

Before the guy (Steve. Steve Cortez. That was his name.) could respond, another head poked up.

"Miri," he was…a mess. He was limping. But he was definitely Garrus. 

He turned to Cortez, "I told you Illium was good people".

"I'm not convinced," Cortez eyed them wary. 

Then Sol stormed through the group and slapped Garrus, "You mean to tell me you say hi to your girlfriend, that you've never introduced me to and not your sister?"

"Spirits," he rubbed his jaw, "I take that back, Cortez, we should run as fast as possible."

"I'm beginning to be convinced," Cortez chuckled, "family's a bitch, isn't it?"

"I've arranged accommodation for you," Peggy's girlfriend stated, "how many are there? Is Tali'Zorah with you?"

"Tali's fine," Garrus started counting on his fingers.

"Seven," a nice voice interrupted. Traynor. The one Shepard had made executive officer. Fine time she showed up and did her job. 

Only seven? 

The quarian (shit. What was her name? Miranda had only met her once…something Raan?) nodded, "Are you here for a specific reason or would you like the chance to rest?" 

"Rest sounds good," Cortez nodded at her, "I'll get the others".

He disappeared in the ship and Garrus approached Miranda. She was vividly conscious of the fact that someone else was holding her (couldn't Peggy have found a chair or something once they got to the docks?).

"I thought you were dead," he was angry, "what the hell even happened?"

"I fell," she'd been saying that a lot lately, "What happened to you?"

She looked pointedly at the way his armor now bent at very unprotective angles. 

"Nearly got smashed by a mako," he paused, "that won't amuse you as much as it should."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Want to take her?" Peggy interrupted, "my arms are getting tired."

"Or you could procure a chair and put me in it," Miranda snapped, "I'm not your oversized doll". 

"Do you mind?" Garrus held out his arms, but directed the question at her, "Until we find a chair?"

Fine. She nodded tensely. 

"If you try anything," she muttered, "I still have biotics and could kill you in an instant."

"What would I even try?" his voice was strained, "I have you exactly where I want you."

That wasn't creepy at all, "Where's that?"

"Alive."

"It takes a lot more than a fall to kill me," she reminded him, "plus, I had some idiot turian to wait for who took his sweet time getting here."

"Thanks for that," his voice was light, but his mandibles were still tight against his face. Whatever had happened on Earth, on the Normandy, whatever had happened with Shepard…it wasn't good. When had she become so good at reading turian emotions?

"Well, it wasn't like I had anywhere to go," she leaned her head against his misshapen armor as he walked. 

"Might have to take you back to Earth with me then," his head lowered, "unless you want to stay here?"

She wasn't one of these people. She'd burnt that bridge a long time ago. She still had battles to fight. One directed at finding a certain ex-Cerberus operative that had gotten lost in the evacuation of the Citadel. The other directed at a very specific piece of outdated legislation. She wasn't one of them, but they were still her own. It was complicated.

"I think I could let the gallant soldier back from war whisk me away," she grinned at him. 

"I'm pretty sure you'll be doing all the whisking," his mandibles separated slightly from his face. 

"Exactly".


	41. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for a four chapter epilogue because lots of stuff just doesn't get wrapped up by the reaper war.
> 
> And delving a little more into the politics of the Binary Legalities. Which, for a general reminder, are the laws (part of the Alliance Health Legislation) which make being trans highly illegal. Often connected with the Box, a magical transition machine from the turians that has been fitted to work for humans (all the boxes were technically destroyed, but the refuge on Illium might happen to have one...shhh, don't tell...)
> 
> And the rest of the Alliance being a complete mess…and humans needing to get their shit together…wheee.
> 
> Warnings for ableism, discussion of suicide

Nat was pissed off. At something. Clint wasn't sure what. It was probably him, but he honestly had no idea what he'd done.

Well, he'd slept with that ace guy from the Normandy, Vega, but that wasn't the kind of thing that would bother Nat (she'd just rolled her eyes at him and forced him to take two fucking showers).

He'd lied the other day and said he was fine when she asked, and of course she'd know it was a lie, but she knew he knew that and he knew she lied about the same thing all the time. It wasn't some new kind of anger.

It wasn't blatant, obvious anger, she didn't do that (she was autistic, none of her emotions came out the way he expected them to, so maybe it was blatant and obvious to her), it was just a different kind if tension, a different way of holding herself. 

She stimmed larger too, but that might be the effect of having another autistic person to stim with around (so maybe she was angry at him about the sex with Vega? But that wouldn't make any sense).

 _All right, what did I do?_ He cornered her because he was completely lost.

She tilted her head in confusion. 

_You're mad,_ he shrugged, _I'm trying to figure out why so I can fix it._

Her mouth formed an o for a moment.

 _I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at them,_ she gestured at every single other person in the refuge.

Who? What?

She looked at him for a moment and he couldn't help but wonder if she wasn't just mad at him and lying about it (He wasn't always fast at picking up on her lies, she was a spy, a professional liar, he was just...an assassin turned loyal puppy dog, or something).

 _I'm not an interpreter,_ she signed finally, _they just assume that because I sign, it's my job to follow you around and explain you to everyone else like I'm some kind of sign language machine._

He hadn't realized that it bothered her so much. 

_I thought you did it voluntarily,_ he admitted, _you don't have to, there's still speech to text translation._

And he'd spent the first eleven years of his life lip reading. It wasn't a perfect method, but he'd survived this far. She didn't have to do anything. 

_You don't hear it, though,_ she pushed, _every time someone wants to talk to you, it's "Romanoff get over here and help me talk to your boyfriend", they don't let me say no. I don't matter here, just the fact that I can communicate with you better than they can._

She considered, _which is actually their fault. I'd teach them to sign if they bothered to ask._

 _It's hard,_ he pointed out, _I can't just expect them to drop everything and learn a new language just for me._

 _There's all this fucking talk about taking care of your own,_ she rolled her own, _but as soon as you trans people have to deal with a disability, you're just as bad as the fucking Alliance with cures and bullshit. You saw how Peggy just grabbed Miranda without consent, didn't you? Or is that considered respect here?_

He hadn't thought about it. He'd just been glad to see Miranda not hiding away in her room. Not like he could talk, he was avoiding her. Shit, he didn't really want to deal with quite yet. Would he ever actually want to deal with it?

Natasha's sigh was visible, _I have to hide here more than I did than in C-sec, turians don't give a damn. Here, it's just "Natasha do this, Natasha do that, Natasha speak for Clint because he's broken." You're not broken. I'm not broken. Everyone here is an asshole. I don't exist unless they need me._

Except he was broken. His body didn't function the way it was supposed to. His brain didn't either. 

_You're not broken,_ she repeated vehemently, _you've just spent too much time listening to the toxic bullshit your so-called family spouts._

_They're still my family,_ that was something she couldn't understand, _you forgave Gianna when she fucked up._

And that was definitely the wrong thing to say. Nat's face darkened and, for a moment, he thought she was just going to collapse.

And then she straightened and glared at him, _Gianna apologized and tried to learn. No one here gives a shit. If I told them I'm autistic, they'd put me on the list of people to be cured, right under yours. I don't belong here. And neither do you._

Except he did. Or did he? They were his family. The only people who knew what it meant to be trans in this stupid galaxy of hell. But he hadn't really spent time with them in so long. Hell, he still mixed up the names of all the ones that came after he joined Cerberus. Maybe he just didn't belong anywhere.

 _You're not staying,_ he realized, _once they fix the mass relays._

Once, not if. The galaxy was looking slightly more hopeful. But travel being possible meant that people could leave…

 _I'm a spy,_ she told him, _I can't spend my life at the whims of some able-bodied allistics because they don't know shit._

She was leaving him.

 _The Gandor colony was evacuated to Omega,_ she looked at him, _it's small, the person who directs it is trans, there are more deaf people than in most colonies. It's where Angel and Rhys and Kate went after the evacuation._

 _You want me to move?_ It wasn't that simple. But there was still some of them there…Gandor, it sounded familiar even.

 _I'm letting you know what my choice is,_ she shrugged, _I'll need a base separate from the Shadow Broker, the colony's director's less likely to kill me if you're with me, seeing as I shot him a while ago, but it's your choice._

His choice of whether or not he got to be part of her life. Because he was a mess that couldn't sort out his life and she couldn't just lump around next to him because she was so much better than that.

 _I'd never leave for good,_ she read his thoughts, _wherever you are, I'd find you. If this is where you want to be, I'll come back, I just…need to get out of here._

Oh. 

_Sorry,_ she approached him, _I meant to tell you this in a slightly less obnoxious way._

 _It wouldn't be you if it was tactful,_ he reminded her.

She rolled her eyes and shoved her hand into his chest so he could feel the impressions of her thumb, pointer, and little finger. _I love you._ Except so much more than that, because it was in his language, and their bodies, nothing else. 

He held her hand there. 

He'd have to think about this Omega thing. This spying thing. What he actually did want. And he'd have to figure out a way to tell everyone to lay off her, make them get their shit together. Whatever issues they had with communicating with him, that had nothing to do with Nat, they shouldn't go through her. She should feel safe here. (Except none of them probably felt safe with her around, it was all a mess).

***

He got a deadline on the Miranda conundrum. She was leaving with Garrus and the rest of the Normandy. He had twenty-four hours to decide if he wanted to talk to her, if he could talk to her and to do it, if that was the chosen course of option.

He probably wouldn't get another chance to fix whatever it was they had broken (his trust) after she left. 

But she had destroyed Eva. She had destroyed one of their own. Everything she had made him believe in, everything she had taught him, it didn't matter, because she had built a fucking control chip. 

But hadn't they all done shitty, unforgiveable things? 

He'd written out a list once. Not long after leaving Tokyo. A list of all the people he'd killed in Cerberus. Every single one. He remembered their names. Every single one.

And then he'd added the twelve names he'd killed in his attempt on the council.

And blank spaces for all the undocumented kills. The ones he couldn't remember. The ones he'd failed even more than the others. 

Nat had tried to make him delete the list, but it was still there, in his omnitool. 

Who was he to judge Miranda when he was just as bad? Worse? 

He was in a reality. He was alive. The reapers were destroyed, so nothing was controlling him. 

Logic might not win out, but it didn't matter. Damn sanity. He needed Miranda. 

Her back was to the door when he walked in.

[You're leaving,] he hoped the words coming out of his mouth were the same as the ones he was forming in his head. He could still hear the shape of the words without the hearing aids, it was probably fine. 

She turned to him and looked surprised. She started to say something and then stopped and lifted her hands, _sorry._

It was such a little sign for such a deep gulf between them, almost laughable even, and yet it bridged the gap between them in a way words never could. 

He grabbed her wrist to stop the motion, [Stop worrying, just…listen. You're always too busy to listen].

She looked at him waiting. Shit, now he had to say something. 

[I can't forgive you,] he started, [but hell, you were planning to die fixing your mistake, weren't you?]

She nodded.

[At least I make no secret of my death wish,] he hated having his hunch confirmed. It wasn't supposed to be true. Other people weren't supposed to want to die. 

_I am not you,_ her hands were slow, confused, struggling. 

[You're Miri,] he shrugged, [that's important. I can't just…be angry. You matter too much.]

He tried to figure out how to say it. What words to put into his eternal silence that would explain what Miranda had done for him, who she was, why she mattered, why he couldn't just turn his back even when she had betrayed him to the very core.

[You're Miri], it was the only way he could explain. Hopefully she'd understand. Hopefully, she'd listen and understand all the mess and complications that this was. It was a long shot, of course, but he had to believe that she could. He needed to believe in Miri, not because she was trustworthy (she wasn't), but because she was the person who had made him. 

She spelled out his name slowly, _C-l-i-n-t-o-n E-r-i-c B-a-r-t-o-n._

He grinned, [you have no one but yourself to blame for that]. 

She rolled her eyes and then lifted her hands again, _I need help._

Way to be very general and confusing, [With what?]

She waved her hands aimlessly for a few moments, struggling and then gave up and poked at her omnitool and lifted it up so he could see it.

_**Proposed Council Hearing on Articles XXII-LIV in Alliance Health Legislations** _

Of course that would be her plan. Shepard would just barrel over all the idiots by wreaking havoc on the extranet, Miranda would then go in and attack the very foundation of everything. 

And if she actually succeeded…

A hearing was nothing. Even if the Council made a decision, even if they…even if he became legal, it wouldn't change overnight. There would still be people that wanted them dead, the hate wouldn't be gone, the stigma, the assumption that they were sick. There would still be kids living in dumpsters and kids like Kate who would grow up knowing their parents had wanted to get rid of them. There would still be people hiding and hating themselves and each other.

But it was something. And it was a hell lot more than they had had a month ago. 

[What can I do?] it was their fight, it was his fight. He would do what he needed.

 _Speak,_ she pointed at the thing.

[My talking's a bit rusty,] he argued.

_I know an interpreter. Remember Matt?_

Of course he remembered Matt. The person that had taught him to sign. But he'd only spent two weeks at the commune that time and then disappeared…somewhere. Clint nodded.

 _He will help,_ Miranda signed. So, that mysterious guy was still alive and doing…whatever the hell he did (He hadn't explained it when he was at the commune). 

[You've been planning on this all along, haven't you?] of course she had, [what do you even want me to say? The Alliance sucks?]

She rolled her eyes. 

_Still plans,_ she signed, _I know, I tell you more. Be more…_

[Eloquent?] he offered.

She smirked and nodded. Yeah, that. Eloquence, words. Not really his thing. 

But fucking hell. Every time he thought he could just give up on Miranda and assume she'd retired to do Miranda things, she came around with something new. She didn't fucking give up, and she fixed her mistakes, knowing exactly how lethal the decision was, and there was absolutely no way he could stop believing in her.

Forgiveness didn't even matter.

***

Sam stayed with them with the Normandy left. It was to be expected. They fit in. 

He left with Nat. 

It baffled Peggy, but she hadn't bothered to even learn how to sign "thank you", so he didn't bother explaining to her that the refuge was nice and all, but he had other places to be, other things to do.

 _I'm still an assassin,_ he'd told Nat, _we're partners._

 _You're getting new hearing aids or something then,_ she'd rolled her eyes, _my ears can't cover two people when I'm working._

_He really didn't want to deal with hearing aids again until human doctors figured out how to make them, he'd done his research on that, _I've heard the Gandor colony still trains dogs, I'm sure one would make a very good spy.__

_She'd laughed, _only you could come up with something as ridiculous as a spy dog and make it work.__

_This time he wouldn't leave his dog behind to be blown up._

_Omega was altered. Admittedly, he hadn't seen it since the Cerberus takeover and then whenever that coup had happened (that apparently Nat was responsible for? He'd have to ask for the whole story someday, when she was in a sharing mood)._

_She dragged him to Afterlife right to where Aria used to sit, which was occupied by a turian and…oh._

_Miranda's Matt was the director of the Gandor-now-Omega colony. Of course it made sense, but he hadn't been expecting that. Or maybe he'd just forgotten a detail and had known back when he was seventeen. Matt. Clint had followed him, first out of curiousity, then out of a fascination - someone Like Him. Not Deaf, no, but disabled, someone who didn't experience the world through his senses the way he was supposed to, and he still got around and communicated (and pissed Zen off incredibly)._

_And he'd been the one to teach Clint that disabled didn't mean incapable, his hands gently guiding Clint's in sign after sign until he could produce them against Matt's hands (he'd only learned non-tactile variations later, off extranet caches, when he realized that most people wouldn't care enough to get that close to him, and even more people would just want him to turn up his hearing aids)._

__You know Nyreen?_ Nat read him too easily, _or Matt?__

__Matt._ _

__Good,_ she stated, _he's the one I shot.__

_Seriously?_

__I was fourteen,_ she shrugged, _someone offered me good money, I took the job.__

_It was so easy to forget where Nat came from and then she'd say something like that. He poked her shoulder and she rolled her eyes at him._

_The approached the two together. The turian said something._

_Nat said something back, _Nyreen says hi and wants to know who you are.__

__Hi Nyreen,_ he parroted, _I'm Clint. Who are you?__

__She's the new queen of Omega,_ Nat reprimanded him and then turned and said something back. _

_Matt's hands lifted, _Hawkeye Clint?_ _

_He almost considered poking Nat very hard for the way she doubled over in laughter. The turian looked incredibly confused._

_[Does that mean I can call you Daredevil Matt?] he asked._

__Respect your elders,_ was the response, _I was Daredevil long before you existed.__

_[Shut up, you aren't that old], he was the same asshole as before. Would piss Zen off just as much._

__I told you coming here was a good idea,_ Nat smirked at him and he rolled his eyes. He'd never actually admit it, but she was right. _

_***_

_The summons for the hearing came after their second mission. Mission was a bit of a misnomer. They came after the second time they transported a data pad from point A to point B. Clint flew and watched Nat's six while she did fancy things with computers and data. The dog was quiet (according to Nat) and small (according to anyone that picked it up) and nudged him whenever something needed his attention, but it didn't eat pizza. It wasn't Lucky, but it was still a dog._

_Matt delivered the datapad to their apartment himself._

__Apparently I get to be a real lawyer,_ he remarked, _instead of named after one.__

__You'd have to go to school to become a real lawyer,_ Clint informed him._

__Just let me savor the moment,_ Matt insisted._

_Nat sighed dramatically, [ _this is going to be a horrible trip._ ]_

_Later, he told her she didn't have to come and she wacked him in the head with a pillow and told him not to be stupid, she couldn't let him loose on Earth with no one but Matt to keep him in line, _you could start another galactic war.__

__One was enough,_ he informed her._

__Exactly, _she told him, _I'm coming. We're staying with Vega and I will be helping Jack with her students while you're busy doing fancy political things.___ _

___She was always one step ahead of him, or maybe he had just gotten lazy because she was so on top of things._ _ _

____We have another mission afterwards,_ she informed him (the Shadow Broker still didn't trust him enough to communicate with him, all information went through Nat), _Aria's gone missing.__ _ _

____So…a real mission?_ The Aria T'Loak had gone missing and apparently they were supposed to find her? Holy shit._ _ _

____Isn't it exciting?_ Nat gave him a proper smile._ _ _

___Yeah, actually, it was. After everything had happened, after the explosion of the entire galaxy, things were moving onwards. He had a job. He had friends. And a home. And a dog. And he was about to go get himself the right to exist legally._ _ _

___He had hope._ _ _


	42. Council Hall, London

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay politics!
> 
> Warnings for transphobia, ableism, racism, including slurs and violence and misgendering, mentions of rape, semi-invasive questions about sex.

This was one of those moments where Miranda really felt how much Shepard was missing. 

Shepard should be there in her place. But instead, Shepard was missing and assumed dead, and why the hell would someone blow up the Citadel with themself inside? 

It didn't matter. 

Shepard wasn't here, but she had started this. Miranda was just finishing her work. 

Shepard would have made the whole thing go a lot faster.

She explained to the council why she called the hearing. A whole bunch of people in the Alliance talked, trying to explain the legalities. The Salarian Councillor's questions got pointed and they started stumbling over words, but they were allowed to finish. 

Then Matt talked, being the nerd he was, and explained all the ways the Alliance laws were infringements on council law. Some high up turian commander added statements about how humans shouldn't be on the council (a human councillor hadn't been elected since Udina, so it was a good political manoeuvre). 

Kate gave a very adorable gender 101 (which was definitely a very different political manoeuvre, cute kids were good at that). 

And then they had a break.

They'd barely even discussed the issue.

"This is so boring," Sam stretched out on the grass as they waited for the session to start again, "couldn't we have just skipped the first part?"

"They have to keep seeing us," Miranda replied, "the Council, to know we're serious, the Alliance, to know we're not going away and that we're going to make their place in the Council as precarious as possible until they give in."

"They're not the only ones watching though," Emily motioned towards the newspoint, "we're heroes."

"Naw," Sam shook their head, "we're just wannabes, the real heroes died a long time ago."

"I'm pretty sure at least one is still alive," Emily smiled. 

"How can you be so sure?" Miranda changed her mind every day. Shepard had to be dead. Shepard couldn't be dead. Back and forth, forth and back. 

"She's not allowed to die without giving me a story," Emily shrugged, "she knows the rules. She'll be back and her story better be worth the wait."

A shadow cast over Miranda's eyes and she glanced up. One of the Alliance politicians, she didn't remember the name.

"Look at your ragtag band of misfits," his voice was acidic, "it's almost adorable - the deaf and the blind and the crippled and you colored types all looking to place the blame for their misfortune elsewhere. Corrupting children in the process."

She glanced over to where Matt and Clint were…probably insulting her, while Kate very firmly shoved flowers into Clint's hair. They seemed suitably distracted for the moment. She could start shit. 

"You're forgetting the part where I am the only person to walk away from the Illusive Man and survive," she smiled at him sweetly, "I'd pick my battles wisely if I were you."

"You actually think your little political frolic is a battle, sicko?" the guy laughed, "You can't even stand."

"You really did not just say that," Sam muttered. 

Miranda had been practicing with manipulating and forming biotics (inspired by Romanoff), so it wasn't that hard to get the snakes of blue light neatly around the guy's wrists and ankles before he noticed.

"What the hell are you doing?" 

"A pre-show," she grinned at him, "because in the next segment of the hearing, you get all of our personal stories and you'll discover that being sick makes someone very strong and powerful."

She weighted the biotic chains and the guy fell to the ground. It was satisfying.

"You guys are weird," Emily commented, "I'm glad my work generally takes us in separate directions."

"You get used to it," Sam replied. They could have just as well said, "Shepard would have been a lot more brutal", but they all knew that, they didn't have to bring it up unless it was necessary.

Miranda just smiled at the way the guy stared at her in fear, "I joined Cerberus because I was trans. People like you hating me is what made me able to do this to you. Maybe if we all just learned to love each other, this wouldn't be a problem."

"Sounds great," the guy gasped out.

"There's a slight problem though," Miranda pointed out, "you started it. Why should I care what happens to someone who hates me enough to make me this powerful?"

"You shouldn't," Sam replied. 

"There's this thing called self-preservation," Emily piped up, "have you two ever heard of it?"

Just then, the signal for reentry into the council hall. Miranda considered the idiot in front of her. 

"The biotics will wear off in ten minutes," she informed him, "you'll be fashionably late."

"Do you seriously think threatening our opponents is a good idea in a legal battle?" Emily hissed as they moved back towards the building.

Miranda glared at the stairs and suspicious lack of ramps. She'd complained about that multiple times now. The council should be much more accommodating. Fine. They won this round. She used her biotics to lift her chair up the stairs.

"I'm not a politician," she looked up Emily, "I'm an operative, Matt's the politician, and Sam's always been an Alliance sell-out ."

"The work's interesting," Sam shrugged, "they like me".

"Exactly," Miranda agreed, "they don't have to like me. They like Sam, they respect Matt, they want to stay on your good side because you're blog has more power than they want to admit, Clint's here to be blunt in the way that avoids interracial outrage, and I'm here to make people listen, not to be diplomatic".

It was a terrible plan. But it was all they had. That and Shepard's name and a whole lot of guts.

***

Emily went first. She sat straight and tall and gave a testimonial that would probably be the most truthful one that day. Alliance prodded her about her relationship with Shepard and she answered with single words. 

"Wonder if I should be truthful if they ask me that," Sam murmured in Miranda's ear.

"Don't you dare," Miranda had no interest in hearing about anyone's sex life. Ever.

Sam sighed. 

Sam went next and the testimonial went in the same manner. They stressed their Oxford degree, their spotless work with the Alliance, the extra project they were doing for the council on improving translation equipment. Goody two shoes. 

Happily, no one thought to ask about their sex life. Maybe the sweet, innocent act worked. 

They did ask about their boxing, though, which must have hurt, but Sam just sat up straighter, "The box is the most known way of being trans, but it is not the only way."

"What do you mean by that?"

"If you read the definition provided in the health legislation, trans is used to cover any form of gender nonconformity," they kept their head held high, "while I believe Kate's earlier demonstration challenged this, it does put a lot more people at risk than just those of us who have been boxed."

"Are you saying not everyone who has been hurt by this legislation is trans?"

"Of course," Sam stated, "determining whether or not someone is trans is impossible."

"If you haven't been boxed, why are you here?"

"Because my gender identity is different from the one that I was assigned at birth, I am still trans."

"But it is impossible to tell, you are safe."

"No one is safe."

And then it was Clint's turn, and she knew it was going to happen, she had been counting on it, but she hated it anyways, the collective shock when people realized he was signing.

The interpreter (courtesy of Matt being obsessed with cultivating those kinds of skills) had been present the whole time, of course, but off in the shadows, not really noticeable. 

She hated herself for doing this. Because, yes, Clint's bluntness would probably end up getting a lot more across than Emily's journalistic truth or Sam's role as the Alliance's pet trans, whatever language he used. But a lot of the ones from the colony could do that. Clint was a pity play. Most people in the Alliance had never knowingly met a deaf person (yes, hearing aids weren't perfect, but they were nearly and apparently implants were all the rage). 

He glanced back at her for a moment and smirked. And that was the final reason he was there. He was the only person she knew who could pull off a pity play and keep his dignity intact (and why she wasn't playing that role).

She hated politics. 

"Before we continue," the turian councilor stopped, "may I ask if there is a correlation between your muteness and the boxing?"

"I'm not mute," Clint retorted, "I'm deaf. I can't hear to make sure I'm saying the right thing, so please…"

He went back to signing much too fast for Miranda to follow. 

"The two things are unrelated," the interpreter was definitely choosing fancier words than Clint was using, "though I do understand boxing in turians can affect hearing, that is not true for humans as far as I'm aware. What is related is how it affected my access to care."

"I do not know how I ended up…" the interpreter looked confused for a moment and verified something, "I'm sorry. I was going to be sold to batarian slavers and I do not know how that happened, there may be correlation there. What I do know is that I nearly died and I was saved and brought to a community of other trans people."

"Which is how I know the box doesn't fix hearing, because we tried," the interpreter was slowly giving up on the flowery language, "I got a…turian doctor that had no idea how to accommodate human ears. I couldn't get good care because I had to hide."

The salarian councillor interrupted, "If you were saved by trans people, were you trans before then?"

Clint signed something and had a half second long eye battle with the interpreter, who sighed, "That's a stupid question. The brought me to the community because I was trans. They would have dumped me somewhere else if I wasn't."

"Leaving children to die is harsh," the asari councilor commented.

Clint looked back at Miranda again and met her eye. Yeah. She knew about that.

He turned back. 

"With all due respect," the interpreter squinted slightly, " a child in a visible place on the street or in a homeless shelter is in much better condition than with a group of people that is deemed illegal and risks pain of death when discovered."

"Are those really the fears in this community you're discussing?" the asari pushed.

"I learned never to say the word 'trans' or 'box' long before I learned how to read," the interpreter stumbled over his words slightly, "if the Alliance was in the area, we hid under the floorboards, we had to relocate once when someone found a bomb in the kitchen."

Yeah, she remembered that. She had forgotten how bad it was. She was able to forget because she had been halfway across the galaxy most of the time. The lucky one. 

The interpreter's voice hitched audibly, "one of us went to Eden prime once, I forget why, and never came back. We found out later she was burnt alive there when someone recognized her from before she was boxed."

Another horror Miranda had managed to miss.

Clint signed something else and the interpreter suddenly looked sick, "I'm sorry, I…can't…that's…"

She ran out of the room. 

The room followed him with their eyes and then everyone was staring back at Clint.

His hands tensed, "There was a group of kids we kept track of, parents kick out any kid that show any behavior that could be considered trans because it's better than getting them killed. We tried to have them join us because our location was safer, but they didn't really want to leave, they'd made their place a home, you know?"

Miranda had only dimly been aware of that. They had been Carol's kids. Carol's and Clint's. 

"Twelve of them, I think," Clint took a deep breath, "gutted. Ripped open, insides torn out, at least two of them had been raped. Used their blood to write the first paragraph of the legalities on the wall. None of them were older than fourteen."

She had definitely never heard that story.

"And now," he stared calmly ahead, "I'd appreciate it if you'd wait for my interpreter to return so I can answer any questions you have."

Silence hung in the hall. Miranda just felt sick. While she had been off destroying aliens, non-humans, doing what she thought was best, she had failed. So much. Children were tortured on her watch. Jack and Romanoff and twelve unnamed possibly trans children and no one should have to witness that. Ever. 

It shouldn't happen. 

Clint turned calmly back to face her. 

She couldn't begin to think of the words to explain, let alone the signs. She lifted her hands anyways, _I didn't know._

_We made sure you didn't,_ his face was dark. It was the only movement in the hall. 

"Well," it was the asari councilor that finally broke the silence, "I believe we should call a recess. Afterwards, there is one more testimony?"

Yeah. Fuck. There wasn't really much more she could say. 

"Coming out to get some air?" Sam poked her gently, "prepare yourself for the inquisition?"  
"No," she shook her head, "I need some time alone".

"Of course," they stood up, "but if you need anything, message me, ok?" 

Of course.

***

"Miri".

She turned around and yes, it was. Oriana. She'd been looking forever, but the refugee records were a mess and she hadn't had anything solid. She'd ended up deciding Oriana wasn't on Earth.

"Ori," she let herself smile.

"Next time you want to find me, send a message," Ori settled next to her, "don't stage some dramatic publicity event that tears out your friends' tragic backstories."

"I didn't have your number," Miranda commented.

"Oh yeah," Ori tapped something out and synched it to her omnitool, "now, you can message me".

"How are you?" it had been months since the evacuation and the war. Months since she had left Ori on the Citadel.

"Other than thinking my entire family was dead?" Ori shrugged, "I'm alive."

"Your parents?" 

"Dad's down as dead, Mom's unknown, but it's been long enough". 

"I'm sorry", she didn't really know what else to say. They weren't her family.

"Don't be," Ori shook her head, "I still have you."

"Not much of a sister, am I?" all she did was let people down. Abuse children. 

"No," Oriana agreed, "but you are a very good Miranda Lawson, and that's who I love".

"Might be easier finding a different family," Miranda pointed out.

"Easy's boring," Oriana grinned at her, "hey, that guy, those people talking that aren't you, are they your family?"

"You saw the refuge," Miranda pointed out.

"Yeah, but none of these people," Ori shrugged, "the journalist and the one that was with Shepard make sense, but why not anyone from the refuge?"

"It's just the way the pieces landed," Miranda said. Or more, Peggy had her hands full trying to reinvent the entire Illium economy and Mara was too old to travel and had sent in a written testimony. 

"What about that last guy?" Ori looked at her, "he kept looking at you."

"He's Clint," Miranda shrugged, "he's a lot of things".

"But he's family, isn't he?"

Why was she obsessed with this idea of family? She'd just lost hers. 

"Yeah," Miranda admitted, "he's family".

"So he's like my brother?" Ori's eyes glinted evilly and Miranda suddenly understood. Oriana was adopting her family. Making the bonds tighter, making them tighter.

"In a way yes," she smiled, "though you might want to warn him about that."

The bell rang and people started filing back into the hall. 

"I better go," Ori leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, "have fun giving them hell". 

She glanced over to where Clint and his interpreter were discussing something, "He's kind of hot, like, in a show off my hot older brother to my friends kind of way."

"Get out before you embarrass me too much," Miranda commanded. Ori stuck out her tongue and left.

Clint looked at her quizzically, _who?_

He probably knew already, the bastard, _Oriana._

Good luck, he smiled at her and she shrugged. There wasn't much of a response to that.

***

"So, Ms. Lawson, you held a high-ranking position in Cerberus?"

"I was the Illusive Man's right hand".

"And you walked away?"

"Yes"

"May I ask what happened?"

"We had some disagreements. He used my position on the Normandy as a way to shut me out of other Cerberus activities. When I discovered that his plans were…beyond the scope of what I signed up for, I walked away".

"You make it sound easy".

"It wasn't the hardest thing I've done in my life".

"What would that be?"

"Rebuilding Commander Shepard's body".

"Did you realize she was boxed?"

"At the time? No. There are no biological differences detectable by modern medicine".

"Did you choose to support Commander Shepard because she was boxed?"

"I follow Shepard because she was a good leader". 

"Why did you follow the Illusive Man?"

"Because Cerberus owned the box, we had to cooperate with him or risk having our names published to the galaxy."

"Why couldn't you keep the information from them?"

"Some people did. But it was a risk. We nearly had to kill a friend to keep the information safe."

"What happened to that friend?"

"The information was passed on to Shepard before our hands were forced. I do not know what she did with it. The friend is…still our friend."

"Do you put your friends in danger?"

"That is why we tend not to have friends other than each other".

"Mr. Barton mentioned he was found, were you found in the same way?"

"I found the community while trying to escape my father."

"Why were you escaping your family?"

"He was abusive and cruel, in the reaper war, he assisted the Illusive Man, is that a satisfactory answer?"

"So he did not kick you out?"

"No, I was a very good child".

"And you had no reason to fear for your life?"

"I had to discover that transness existed to realize that I was a woman".

"Could you say you were corrupted then?"

"No, I was educated. And then I realized. There was no contagion. I made the choice to find the others trans people long before I had even met a single one."

"Ms. Traynor mentioned choosing not to use the box, is that common?"

"I believe it depends on the person".

"And for you?"

"I have been boxed, yes".

"Does this change your interpersonal relations?"

"Living under threat of death does tend to change how you interact with people".

"I meant sex."

"I do not have sex."

"Is that because you were boxed?"

"Plenty of people who are boxed have sex. So no."

"Why did you call this hearing?"

"Because I have been living in fear."

"Why now?"

"Because the war is over."

"Does it have anything to do with your relationship with Commander Shepard?"

"Of course it does".

"How?"

"Shepard showed me that trans people had the right to do more than just survive. I'd like to finish her work."

"Thank you, Ms. Lawson, I believe that is all. We need to discuss and consider the documents you have submitted. The hearing will reconvene tomorrow morning."


	43. Watching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Natasha is a badass and super wise. 
> 
> Warnings for transphobic violence, internalized transphobia, discussion of suicide

Jack left the broadcast on in the background while they worked with the students. 

It was basic exercises, Jack would model a technique for fighting someone that was immune to biotics and then the students would practice. Natasha was forbidden from fighting back at first so she got bashed around a lot. But the kids were good and when she was finally able to start tossing back shreds of their biotics, they were surprised, but not incapable.

Still, it only took half her mind and the other half was definitely focused on the broadcast playing over their heads. 

_"I broke Shepard's story because I was tired of having a piece of paper tell me I didn't deserve to live."_

_"Three men came after me in the wards and I had to escape into the vents. Their guns were loaded."_

_"I chose to be boxed because there was no other option. Every time someone called me 'boy', I felt too nauseous to move."_

_"I didn't believe I could be trans because I had been taught it was a sickness."_

_"I thought all trans people were sad and lonely and deserved to die, I didn't want to be that person."_

_"At Oxford, my girlfriend was tried and executed and I did nothing to stop it because I believed it was for her own good."_

_"No one is safe."_

"That's an optimistic one," Jack commented blithely. 

"Sam's one of the lucky ones," Natasha wasn't sure if any of them were lucky, really, but from what she could gather, Sam had had it pretty good.

"Don't think anyone's that lucky in this galaxy," Jack commented.

Natasha had to give her that, "You have to be thankful for what you have."

"Gratitude's a funny thing," Jack grinned, "Never comes when you want it to."

"We got to blow up our past," Natasha reminded her.

"Yeah, I did that," Jack shrugged, "guess I'm thankful for myself then."

Fair enough.

She watched as Clint stood to address the Council.

And she wanted to turn off the broadcast.

Some things were just better left unsaid. Hell, she knew whatever he was going to say was going to be hard and really, she should be in that room with him, but she just…couldn't. She didn't want to know.

He'd warned her, on their way there, just a quick, _I'm not going to hold back._

And, well, that was the point, wasn't it? To not hold back. To recognize the fact that the Alliance was destroying lives and souls and people.

"Don't want to see your boyfriend's moment of glory?" Jack idly threw some biotics at her. 

"He's not my boyfriend," she snapped, "and this is definitely not glory."

She didn't want to know. She was a coward. She couldn't take her eyes away.

The interpreter wasn't doing his words justice. Scared, maybe. Or just out of practice (it couldn't be like there were lots of chances to interpret sign language besides pretty trivial matters in the Gandor/Omega colony). 

_A friend went to Eden Prime because she was stupid. Never came back. Her mother recognized her and had her burnt alive._

"Shit," Jack muttered, "you're right".

"I'm always right," Natasha replied half-heartedly. She hadn't want to be right. She wanted to be completely wrong. She wanted to go back in time to the first moment she realized the commune had existed and figure out a different way to save them.

She should be there. She should be standing at the door waiting for him the minute he walked out during the recess.

Except she shouldn't. It wasn't her fight. She'd been able to blow up her past. 

Cerberus would never stand trial for what they had done to her, but that was ok, because the Illusive Man was dead, it was ok, because she knew she'd blown up the facility and could leave it behind. It had made her, but she had moved beyond it, it was terrorist activity. But for Clint…How could you move beyond something that was considered legal and legitimate? 

There was no way it could be her fight. 

She noticed the anomaly as the figures on the screen were leaving the hall for recess, the strangely old fashioned vent grating was blocked up, with…something.

Shit, "I need to go."

"Giving your boyfriend a hug?"

Seriously?

"Hopefully being proven wrong," she countered. She really didn't like the idea of a bomb, or a gas, or anything going through a grating into a room full of people. And yeah, one that held people she was particularly fond of. 

***

She stopped short in front of the Council Hall. Was she seeing things or was…?

Commander Shepard turned around, leaning heavily on a cane.

She did not have time for this. Missing people were supposed to choose slightly better times to come back. Weren't they?

"Watch your back, soldier," Shepard nodded at her. She whirled around and knocked someone over with her elbow.

And that was…yes, it was that friend of Lawson's that got fucked over by Cerberus and was basically the reason of a whole lot of mess. Dottie. Whatever her name was. 

"You like them, don't you," Dottie hissed, lurching from the ground to grapple her, "Your pet trannies, how cute."

"They're your friends too," Natasha thought they were, at least, she twisted out of Dottie's grasp. 

"Friends don't convert each other into cults," Dottie swung at her and she ducked.

"Please tell me your powers came back with you," she yelled at Shepard.

A wave of biotics flew towards Dottie and Natasha shaped them into bindings around her wrists and ankles. There. Calm. For a little while.

She sent Peggy an emergency message.

"If you're not aware, there's a thing I should be watching, why are you interrupting Romanoff?"

"I might have found Dottie," she sat down on the tied down body so she'd know as soon as the bindings lost strength, "please tell me you have the control and haven't touched it."

Or maybe that would be better, considering what Dottie had just been saying. 

"Yeah, it's right in front of me," Peggy's eyes narrowed, "what's the problem?"

"Either Lawson's wrong about it being the control or someone managed to do a number on her," Natasha considered, "or maybe the shock made all her internalized transphobia become external."

"What are you saying?"

"She's trying to kill me."

"That's not transphobia."

"You're watching the broadcast, no?" Natasha pushed, "check out that back grate, right over Wong's head."

Peggy squinted at something "It's a grate?" 

"It's a blocked vent," Natasha explained, "she attacked me when I was going to check it out."

Peggy glared at her. "We don't hurt our own."

"Yeah, the last time I heard someone say that, Clint nearly killed Lawson," Natasha rolled her eyes, "I wish you were right."

"Wait…Clint tried to kill Miri? How did I not know this?"

"Not important right now," Natasha snapped, "what's important is that I'm sitting on top of one of your friends that wants to kill me and the chance of something bad coming out of that vent is high, and it would definitely push the Council to make a ruling in your favor, but the chance of everyone coming out of that hall alive is decreasing every second I spend talking to you."

"What do you want me to do?"

"You'll make more sense of Dottie than I can," Natasha said, "bring the control and get here as soon as you can."

"The earliest shuttle is in an hour, I won't get there until midnight at the earliest."

"Then I'll figure something out until then".

She disconnected and poked at Dottie, "All right, what are you planning?"

"We have to die," Dottie gasped out, "it is our only chance to be saved. We made the wrong decision and then forced others to make the wrong decision to make it the right one and…"

She started crying. 

Fuck. This was why Natasha needed Peggy. This was not her battle. She just kept getting thrown into anyways and not having any clue what to do. Why couldn't she have decided to do something easy like retire?

"Romanoff," Shepard called her, "I think I can take care of her. You should go see about that vent".

Yeah. Ok. Plan. Good plan. 

"Good to have you back, Commander," she started plotting her route in. 

"Thanks for not telling me I should be dead," Shepard sat down next to Dottie.

Natasha smirked and turned to her omnitool. Take the time to send one message. Lawson was talking, so it would have to be Clint. _**Check the back left grate and then get everyone the fuck out.**_

She just had to hope he had little enough care for legal proceedings to read the message. 

She nearly tripped over the dog as she ran up the stairs. Clint still hadn't given it a name (she was pushing for Hawkeye, after the snake, not him, he wasn't convinced). They hadn't let it in with him? Assholes. 

"Stay safe, dog," she muttered and untied it from the railing and sent it into the building ahead of her. Maybe it could wreak enough havoc and confusion to aid the evacuation process. 

She really fucking hoped so. 

Her omnitool pinged and she checked the message as she dragged herself through the vents. _**Door's locked.**_

"Well get it unlocked then," she muttered savagely. She didn't have time to reply. He'd figure something out. Or Lawson. Sam hadn't been chief administrator for nothing. Emily was one of the best investigative journalists out there. They'd have to be ok. They better be ok.

They were going to be murdered by one of their own. 

She crawled faster. 

***

Natasha woke up to the sounds of thunks behind her. 

What the hell?

She appraised the situation. She was lying down. Nothing was tied. Not a hostage. 

What had happened? 

There'd been biotic-poison gas. She'd managed to neutralize it, but then…she couldn't remember. She'd inhaled a lot of it, she knew that, and then the world had gone all tilty and then she was here.

Where was here?

Thunks. Nothing else though. But she was used to silence. 

"I know you're awake, Nat," that was Clint's voice, "cut the act and open your eyes so I don't have to talk".

_Idiot,_ she opened her eyes, _what happened?_

He released the dart in his hand and it hit somewhere over her head, _you saved everyone._

_Everyone?_

He nodded. It shouldn't be that easy. 

She looked around. Ok. It was Vega's guest room. Except there was some kind of machine, that she was hooked up to.

Clint stopped her before she could unhook herself, _that's getting the poison out of your system, you might want to leave it in._

_I don't like hospitals._

_That's why this isn't a hospital,_ he was way too proud of himself for that.

She felt…sore. Not in pain. Sore. Like bits and pieces of her had just been dragged into the realm of dull ache. Well, she had been poisoned, and apparently it was still in her system. Fun. 

Clint threw another dart into the wall above her head.

_Did you warn Vega you were destroying his wall?_ She demanded. 

He shrugged, and threw another dart. 

Well, this was definitely the last time they could be house guests here. 

He normally had a little more to say. But now, he just threw darts and shrugged at her. 

She'd been poisoned and he'd just dug up his worst memories and put them on show for a bunch of idiots. They were a fucking mess. 

She shut her eyes and let herself drift back to sleep to the rhythmic thunk of darts. Better a fucking mess together than anything apart. 

***

Matt prodded her awake unceremoniously.

"Am I the only person who's never met Commander Shepard in person?" he whined at her. 

"Probably," she mumbled and refused to open her eyes. That would take energy she didn't have. Light was painful and draining. 

"You nearly killed me once," he commented.

"I was fourteen," what was he getting at?

"Now you saved my life."

"What makes you think it was your life I wanted to save?" 

"I think you still feel pretty guilty about your assassin days," his voice was calm, "there were ways for you to inhale less of that poison."

"Yeah, but then someone else would have inhaled it," the whole point had been to save people, wasn't it?

"Exactly," he sounded as if he had just proven a very clear point.

"I don't get it," she muttered.

"That's because I'm not bothering to explain," she could hear him stand, "you'll find out later, do you mind if I out you?"

"Yes," of course she did. 

"For a good cause?" 

"No outing unless you tell me why."

"Because I want to destroy the Alliance?" he sounded hopeful.

"Fine," she grumbled, "but if the Alliance doesn't get destroyed I will properly kill you this time."

***

Recovering from toxic poison wasn't fun. It also came with a lot of memories of having to deal with the same thing while fighting Subject Zero for her life and trying to avoid any kind of punishment. 

At least this time, she had Clint to sit next to her while she was puking her guts out (and she had a toilet to puke them out into, she really owed Vega by this point).

At least this time, she had Jack to shove her back into a bed, or a chair, or a couch every time she started feeling dizzy.

And she had Cortez constantly trying to find food she could keep down (answer: none) and a dog that she could feed the food to so as not to make him feel too bad. 

And she had Vega and Clint and Williams to watch stupid superhero movies with since there really wasn't much else she could physically do. 

Liara even came to visit her and gave her hacking work to do that didn't require running across the galaxy. And a red rose dropped onto her lap at one point, so she had a feeling Kasumi was around.

She had a lot of friends and it was really confusing and overwhelming. She spent a lot of time hiding and missing her tiny apartment on Omega where she just didn't have to keep track of so many people. Still, it was nice to know there were so many people who cared. 

"I guess I was a bit hard on you," Peggy admitted on a walk, "I don't think I could have taken care of Clint either."

"He doesn't need taking care of," Natasha countered, "didn't then, either."

"The stuff he said in the hearing was only half the story, you know," Peggy stopped and looked at the sky, "he completely ignored the part where he hated himself so much he wanted to die."

"I can't live my life terrified he's going to kill himself," Natasha shrugged, "he's not my responsibility, he's my partner."

"You really should have listened to me ages ago," Peggy grinned at her, "you were totally pining".

"How's Anji?" Natasha ignored her.

"Back on Rannoch," Peggy started walking again, "she wants me to live with her there."

"Will you?"

"I don't know," Peggy shrugged, "it sounds nice, but I'm not a quarian."

"And I'm not trans and Clint isn't autistic," Natasha knew she'd regret bringing up Clint again, "it's never that simple."

"How do you two make it work?" 

"Well, to start off, we don't have any pretensions or ulterior motives," Natasha struggled to explain to an allo, "we're not attracted to each other, or well, it doesn't matter if we are, it makes everything else a whole lot easier to work through."

"Sounds boring," Peggy commented, "I love Anji _and_ she's hot, there could be one or the other, but the two combined…holy hell."

"Maybe you should tell her that, not me."

"You know why I don't want to go to Rannoch?" Peggy slowed a little and Natasha tried not to show relief, she wasn't that sick, really, "I don't want to be alone, with people that don't get it, get me."

"Doesn't Anji?" 

"Not really," Peggy sighed, "she wants to. And she tries. But like, we watched the hearing together and she just didn't get it. And when I went to get Eva, Dottie, she didn't stop me, but I could tell she didn't really want me to leave either."

"I don't get it either," Natasha admitted, "I fucking shot you and I still don't get it."

"I should really give you a harder time about that," Peggy grinned, "how dare you shoot me."

"Sorry?" 

"I'll forgive you if you stop pretending you haven't inhaled poison and sit down on that bench," Peggy rolled her eyes.

"Fine," Natasha sat. She'd have to get better at acting. 

"I didn't thank you properly for saving Eva," Peggy sat next to her.

"I didn't do anything," had she?

"If you hadn't called me…" Peggy let it hang there. A lot of shit would have happened. A lot of shit could still happen. Peggy claimed she'd convinced Dottie not to kill anyone, but apparently her fears was turning internal. There was a lot of risk. There was a lot of healing. Natasha was too scared to see her. 

"Maybe you should take her to Rannoch," she mused, "Being the only two humans among the quarians might help."

"Or destroy her," Peggy answered darkly, "the Alliance really needs to get their shit together on mental health care."

The answer was obvious, really. There was only one group of humans left that could even begin to claim to have their shit together there.

"I can't speak from personal experience this time," she sighed, "but it might be worth giving Omega a shot."

Peggy didn't answer.

"You're going to have to start trusting someone sometime," Natasha nudged, "and she wouldn't be alone. Matt's the freaking director."

Peggy laughed, "Matt's ridiculous."

No kidding.

"He got one thing figured out though," Natasha told her.

"What's that?"

"All those people the Alliance hates?" Natasha grabbed the words, "we can't just cut ourselves into categories. The autistic people there, the trans people there, the deaf and blind people over there with their ridiculous dogs, and everyone else stuck in their individual corners, it's all messy. We're one thing and then the other and then another, we've got to start trusting each other because we sure as hell can't trust the Alliance."

"That's strangely logical," Peggy nodded, "you might get some guests on Omega."

Natasha smiled, "I look forward to it."


	44. London

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the end! Ta da! Lots of politics and Shepard because why not! Yay!

Garrus went missing. 

Of course, the day Shepard got back, it didn't seem that strange. She'd looked up the address and rung the bell and there'd been no one there and then there was the whole fiasco of the hearing and everyone nearly dying, so it didn't seem like a huge surprise. 

But after three days of sharing the apartment with Miranda and Jack ("shut up, Commander, of course you're staying with us, do you actually think we'd give that honor to Williams or something?"), she was worried.

"He does that sometimes," Miranda had shrugged, "he's never been the best with timing."

"Shouldn't we try to find him, or something?" Shepard worried, "he can't just disappear for long periods of time for anything good."

Miranda and Jack exchanged a look.

"What aren't you telling me?" 

"He…" Miranda paused and sipped at her tea, "didn't take your absence well."

"So, he'll come back," Jack shrugged, "but probably not for a week and he probably hasn't seen the news".

"Then I guess we better make him see it," Shepard decided. She wasn't about to just sit around waiting. She had everything back - her life (that had definitely been in question for a while), her friends, a whole bunch of other friends she hadn't seen yet, a good chance that her hare-brained plan from two years might actually result in actual social change, she had Sam, but she didn't have Garrus. 

And maybe it was just one person, but she didn't really care. He was Garrus. She wanted him back. And she found herself fearing that, even if she did, he wouldn't be Garrus anymore. Was that why Miranda and Jack were so reticent with information?

***

It took the Council seven days to come to a decision, even though they had claimed to only need one. 

No one really understood the wait, it was a bit strange. It was good, though, because it meant that Romanoff was up and about and able to take one of the front row seats (reserved for special guests) when they made the announcement.

"I hear they want to give you a medal for saving the council," Shepard whispered to her. 

"That's ridiculous," Romanoff whispered back.

"As someone who has multiples of that medals, I definitely agree," Shepard nodded, "if they spent less time rewarding people who saved their lives, they might be a more effective political body."

Romanoff hid her snort and glared at her, "I'm trying to look slightly professional here."

Shepard shrugged, "How can a spy look professional?"

Romanoff rolled her eyes. 

"The Council has come to a conclusion on the hearing on certain articles of the Alliance health legislation," Tevos started, "before we announce our decision, we would first like to ask Commander Shepard if she has anything to add, as it was her own actions that led to the hearing."

Seriously? Why did they have to drag her into everything?

"I think everything I have to say has already been covered," she didn't stand, too much effort, "You should continue."

"Then, as is custom, is there anyone who'd like to add any new information?"

It was a really stupid time to ask for new information. 

"There's something I'd like to say, yeah," Matt stood up.

"What, Mr. Murdock?" Sparatuss ounded resigned. 

"That you better have made the right decision," he crossed his arms, "and I'd also like to point out to the Alliance and everyone in this room, that the person who rescued the hearing from the poison gas the other day is autistic."

The gasp was almost comical.

"Yeah," Matt tried to sound fierce, "and the most moving testimony was given by a deaf man who didn't use hearing aids or implants. The woman who put this all together is probably also one of the most deadly people alive and can't walk."

"What are you trying to say, Mr. Murdock?" Tevos pinched the bridge of her nose, "we are aware that you are blind and autistic if you were getting to that, we do our research, even if we don't understand your human obsession with categorization."

"I wasn't but thanks," he stopped, "I just want to point out that the Binary Legalities are just a small set of articles in this giant wretched document of discrimination that masquerades as health care. How many humans have actually gotten proper treatment for PTSD after the reaper war? Huh? Yeah. None that has actually helped. The Alliance hasn't given any proper health care in years."

"This has nothing to do with the issue at hand," Valern snapped.

"That's the beautiful thing about it," Matt insisted, "it has everything to do with the issue at hand. Because it's all in the same document. Yeah, we can go on and on and on about how trans is not an illness, but it is in a document of Health Policy. Maybe once we figure out that one part of the document is wrong, because that is your decision, right? I can't imagine anything else, we can come to the conclusion that other parts of the document is false too."

"And that is a conversation for another day," Tevos interrupted, "we will definitely consider it, thank you."

Matt sat.

"I am going to murder him," Natasha grumbled at Shepard. 

"I haven't properly met him yet," she said, "maybe wait a few weeks?"

"Anyone else?" Sparatus looked up.

There was no response. 

The three conferred for a moment and then Tevos moved forward, "While the hearing only covered one issue - the infringement of the Council's right of personhood inherent in a specific set of Alliance legislation, we have, in fact, made three separate decisions from the information provided."

"The first, of course, is that the set of articles, 22 through 54 in the Alliance Health Legislation, are a serious infringement of personhood in Citadel space," Sparatus spoke, "we expect the Alliance government to set aside time to properly revoke and edit these laws within the next year. Of course, the process will take longer than that, but if we do not see any effort on the part of the Alliance, the human place on the Council will have to be discussed in greater detail."

"Secondly," Valern continued, "it has come to our attention, that there is a lot more…variation in the human race than we were led to believe. The suppression of diversity goes against the right of personhood and we have decided to put together a task group of representatives from all citadel races to evaluate this in depth. We have yet to appoint all members of the task force yet, but, should he choose to accept, we intend to appoint Mr. Murdock to lead the task group."

"Guess I can't kill him now," Romanoff smiled slightly, "we're never going to hear the end of this."

"Finally," Tevos interrupted before Matt could say anything, "we spent a long time discussing the place of humans on the Council. As you are aware, the role of human councillor has not been filled since the betrayal of Mr. Udina."

May he rot in hell.

"Considering many of the failings of humanity brought to light in the hearing, we considered removing the position," the councillor continued, "but we also have the examples of humans such as Commander Shepard, who has saved the Citadel on numerous occasions, and Ms. Romanoff, who has worked in the investigative department of Citadel security for years with impeccable service and quite recently saved all of our lives."

"Am I the new shining emblem of humanity?" Romanoff scoffed.

Shepard stretched, "I'm more than happy to share".

"Of course, it is true in every race, that some people will sell us out and some will save us," the councillor went on (and on and on), "so, we would like to issue an apology to all humans that we have failed to recognize, but more importantly, we have appointed someone to fill the role of human councillor should it interest them."

The room held its breath.

"Samantha Traynor," the councillor smiled at Sam, "we believe that you are the most qualified for the position, should you choose to take it."

Shepard had a feeling they were just fucking with the Alliance at this point. They'd discovered the front the Alliance put up was made of fear and blocked out almost all of humanity and they were enjoying watching the Alliance big wigs squirm as the aliens ignored them for all the "bad" humans. It was…actually effective for once.

"I'm not a politician," Sam looked terrified.

"If it makes any difference," Shepard caught her eye, "I agree with the council on this."

"I'll…have to think about it," they stammered out. 

"We understand," Valern stated, "and that would be the end of this business for the time being. I'm hungry."

And that sounded a bit more like the council.

***

They found Garrus staring frozen at a news point outside a restaurant while they were celebrating Sam's appointment as councillor (they claimed they hadn't decided it, but Shepard knew they would). 

"Hey big guy," she called, "are you going to come join the fun or continue playing statue."

He shook his head, "It can't be."

"I'm really sick of people saying that," she honestly was. Every other second, "you were in the center of an explosion", "you've been missing over a year", "you must be some weird actor trying to play Shepard", "Shepard's dead".

"But it can't be," he smashed the palm of his hand into the news point.

"Why not?" she approached slowly, "and don't say it's because I was in the middle of an explosion because I know that. It kind of hurt."

"But there's no way you," he shook his head, "Shepard could survive something like that. I saw it."

"Keepers," she shrugged, "and one very determined dog. Though mainly the keepers, all the dog was lick me and only sometimes got the parts it was supposed to lick."

"See? You're not making sense," he still hadn't looked up, "you can't be Shepard."

She reached out and forced his chin up until she could look him in the eyes, "Say that to my face".

He didn't move. They stood like that for, well…it felt like a few minutes, but it was probably a bit longer because Cortez sounded worried when he called them. 

"I should get back to the party," she whispered, "want to come?"

He shook his head, "My heart wouldn't be in it".

"That's the best time to party," she grabbed his hand, "plus, my leg's tired, a cane's not going to keep me upright, I'm going to need you".

She took a step and pain shot through her body and she realized exactly how true that was. This new living with pain thing was going to take some getting used to. 

Living was going to take some getting used to. 

But at least she now had Garrus back. 

***

She managed to find Clint on top of a half-constructed building. in Brixton. Of course.

_**Never found out if my tip off was good,**_ she typed out, **_did you find anything here?_**

He nodded.

**_What?_ **

He shrugged, "Ask Nat, I got knocked out."

Oh. 

She settled next to him and stared at the view. A lot of rubble, really, and millions and millions of skeletons. Rebuilding. Brixton wasn't really a place to rebuild. Warehouses full of gangs and child trafficking and drug deals and terrorists. It was a place to leave alone and forget.

But then why had she come back?

It had been her life, before. Fighting with the other gangs for scraps, foraging in the garbage, stealing away a kid or two from the ring when they could. 

It was kind of hard to forget. 

"Remember the screamer?" Clint turned to her slightly. 

It was kind of hard to forget. She nodded.

"She went to Tokyo," he told her, "turned out ok."

If a little girl screaming her head off from unknown traumas could turn out ok, well then...maybe they all could. 

_**Kind of feel like screaming myself,**_ she typed.

"I wouldn't mind," he responded and smirked at her.

She rolled her eyes and stared at the skyline. Rebuilding. Construction. Recovery.

She didn't know what to do with a world like that. A galaxy screaming for freedom and safety? Yeah, she could do that, she could understand it, even. But this? She didn't know what to do with that. Living in an apartment, celebrating your partner's council appointment, having a partner and knowing they'd still be there tomorrow, visiting friends, cards announcing the birth of babies. Moving beyond the screaming. 

_**Not sure if I could do that.** _

He looked at her in confusion.

_**Get better. Turn out ok.** _

"Ok and better are two very different things," he rolled his eyes, "you'll figure it out."

What if she didn't? What if she just continued screaming while everyone else recovered? What if she got left behind?

_**You were spaced once**_ , she remembered Miranda telling her (and despite her front of laziness, she always read her crew's files).

_**Spaced myself."** _

_**I know.** _

_**Wernt suposed to.** _

_**I like to know my crew.**_

"It was still terrifying," he whispered, "and it was ok, because it was supposed to be the last thing I ever felt and then I woke up."

_**Glad you did.** _

"Don't know if I am."

After all this time? There wasn't much she could say to that. It wasn't her business. Some things were better left unsaid.

The silence stretched on until the sun started to go down. Sam would be worried. Shepard stood.

"We're flying back to Omega tomorrow," Clint turned to look at her, "guess we'll see you around?"

We. 

The galaxy was changing, it had no need for her anymore, but maybe she could change with it.

She nodded and limped away.

*** 

Admiral David Anderson was buried in the Shepard memorial cemetery alongside all veterans of the reaper war. 

It was ironic. 

"I followed my orders, Admiral," she saluted the grave, "needed a little help, but I stayed safe, just wish I could have kept you safe too."

She'd shot him.

"I did good," she asserted, "you said so yourself. And now I'm going to take a break and let some others do some good, you ok with that? Do you approve, sir?"

Of course he didn't say anything. He was dead.

She was going to need her own approval from now on. 

It was time to go home and sleep.


End file.
